THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

DAVIS 


^/r^ 


CAPE  COD 


AND 


ALL  ALONG  SHORE: 


BY    CHARLES    NORDHOFF. 


,,9JZatt  tyat  feine  5>almen  itnb  tfameelc  notyivj  urn  ®ut  ju  fein ;  unb  ©utfein 
ill  fceffer  ate  @^5n^eit." — ^etnri^  £eine. 


YORK:      - 

HARPER  &  BROTHERS,  PUBLISHERS, 

FRANKLIN      SQUARE. 
1868. 


LIBRARY 
UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 


Entered,  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1868,  by 

HARPER  &  BROTHERS, 

In  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  United  States  for  the  Southern 
District  of  New  York. 


TO  THE  STUPID  READER. 


stories  collected  in  this  volume  have  oeen  printed 
at  different  times  in  Harper's  Magazine,  except  one 
which  appeared  in  the  Atlantic  Monthly.  Collections  of 
stories  like  this,  I  have  noticed,  are  commonly  pub 
lished  at  the  earnest  solicitation  of  friends,  or  to  gratify 
the  desires  of  an  amiable  but  undiscriminating  public. 
To  prevent  misunderstanding  in  the  present  case,  it  is 
perhaps  well  to  say  that  the  public  is  guiltless  in  respect 
to  this  volume,  and  that  no  fond  friend  has  ever  expressed 
even  a  willingness  to  have  my  stories  assume  this  more 
enduring  form — except  the  publishers,  who,  it  will  be 
readily  believed,  have  no  especial  desire  to  see  the  book 
permanently  on  their  shelves. 

I  have  noticed  that  it  is  customary  with  writers,  when 
they  collect  their  shorter  tales,  to  set  them  into  one  gen 
eral  story,  which  serves  as  a  frame-work  to  the  small 


pieces,  and  furnishes  a  name  for  the  volume,  such  as 
the  "Queen  of  Hearts"  of  Mr.  Wilkie  Collins,  and  Miss 
Edwards's  "Miss  Carew."  In  this  way  a  story  writer  gives 
his  collection  the  appearance,  at  first  sight,  of  what  is  call 
ed  a  novel.  It  naturally  occurred  to  me  to  follow  this  fash 
ion,  which  has  the  advantage  of  deceiving  purchasers, 
who  buy  what  they  imagine  from  the  title  and  chapter 
heads  to  be  a  novel,  and  do  not  discover,  until  they  get 
home,  that  what  they  took  to  be  a  fat  chicken  is  only  a 
small  basket  full  of  stale  eggs.  But  I  refrained,  for  two 
reasons :  1st.,  I  think  it  wrong  to  practice  such  a  cheat 
upon  an  unoffending  and  confiding  public;  and,  2dly., 
I  tried  in  vain  to  invent  a  tale  which  should  serve  me  as 
such  a  frame-work;  and  had  at  last  to  give  it  up,  for  lack 
of  ingenuity. 


CONTENTS. 


CAPTAIN  TOM:  A  RESURRECTION 13 

WHAT  IS  BEST f 47 

A  STRUGGLE  FOR  LIFE - 85 

ELKANAH  BREWSTER'S  TEMPTATION 119 

ONE  PAIR  OF  BLUE  EYES 151 

MEHETABEL  ROGER&S  CRANBERRY  SWAMP. 1T3 

MA  UD  EL  BERT'S  LOVE  MA  TCH. . .  . .  215 


CAPTAIN  TOM  :  A  RESURRECTION. 


CAPTAIN  TOM:  A  RESURRECTION. 


TK  one  of  his  letters  to  Coleridge,  Charles  Lamb  raises 
the  interesting  question,  "Whether  an  immortal  and 
amenable  soul  may  not  come  to  be  damned  at  last,  and  the 
man  never  suspect  it  beforehand  ?  "  Which  starts  in  a 
thoughtful  mind  the  further  query  :  "  How  long  could  a 
man  live  after  he  was  thus  dead  and  damned?  " 

To  the  latter  question,  I  suppose  that  only  a  proximate- 
ly  correct  answer  could  be  given,  viz. :  It  depends :  First, 
upon  what  manner  of  soul  the  dead  man  has ;  and,  sec 
ondly,  perhaps,  upon  what  manner  of  body  he  has. 

That  there  are  men  thus  insensibly  dead  I  consider  be 
yond  a  doubt.  I  meet  such  frequently  in  Broadway  and 
Wall  Street  in  which  last  place  they  exhibit  a  degree  of 
movement  which  is  horrid  enough  to  me  who  know  their 
case ;  and  to  convince  the  skeptical  reader,  I  propose  to 
relate  here  some  singular  circumstances  in  the  life  of  one 
of  these  Dead  Men,  who — to  set  the  matter  beyond  a 
doubt — has  but  lately  suffered  a  resurrection:  for  how 
could  there  be  a  resurrection  if  death  had  not  fore 
gone? 


14  Captain  Tom:  A  Resurrection. 


When  Tom  Baker  had  attained  the  mature  age  of  ten 
years  he  began  to  strike  out  for  himself.  This  was  nec 
essary,  because  Tom's  father,  who  should  have  struck  out 
for  him,  was  dead.  Uncle  Amaziah  Baker  was  a  man 
who  had  all  his  life  "sailed  very  near  the  wind,"  as  they 
say  on  the  Cape  of  one  who  finds  his  expenses  threaten 
ing  continually  to  exceed  his  income ;  and  who,  in  conse 
quence,  affects  patched  trowsers,  darned  socks,  second 
hand  fish-boots^  and  a  hat  which  was  in  fashion  a  good 
many  years  ago,  namely,  when  he  was  married.  The 
fact  is,  Uncle  Amaziah  was  an  unlucky  man ;  and  to  be 
a  fisherman  and  unlucky:  surely  nothing  could  be  un- 
luckier  than  that 

Uncle  Amaziah  had  what  is  facetiously,  but  unfeeling 
ly,  called  a  large  wife  and  several  small  children.  The 
large  wife  was  a  blessing  to  him ;  for  she  helped  the  in 
come  more  than  she  did  the  outlay,  being  not  only  large 
but  healthy,  smart,  frugal,  and  a  scold.  The  children 
were — well,  the  children*  were  put  to  bed  at  seven  o'clock, 
to  be  out  of  the  way,  and  blessed  their  stars  when  they 
got  their  little  stomachs  full  without  a  scolding. 

Uncle  Amaziah,  as  I  have  already  said,  was  notoriously 
unlucky.  In  his  youth  he  had  tried  hard  to  be  a  smart 
fisherman.  He  was  to  have  a  vessel  when  he  was  twenty- 
two,  and  on  the  strength  of  that  prospect  fell  desperately 
in  love  with  Prudence  Bobbins,  who  didn't  love  him  in 
return,  and  told  him  so  at  his  special  request.  Where 
upon  Amaziah  turned  about  and  offered  his  wounded 
heart  and  prospective  fishing-schooner  to  Elmira  Eogers; 
and  she,  having  sometime  before  experienced  a  hankering 


Captain  Tom :  A  Resurrection.  1 5 


after  him,  incontinently  took  him  up — which,  being  a 
large  woman  while  he  was  a  smallish  man,  she  was  well 
able  to  do. 

When  Amaziah  got  his  schooner  Elmira  got  her  Ama- 
ziah.  Whether  he  came  to  her  with  a  whole  heart  is 
more  than  I  can  tell.  He  had  a  whole  coat,  and  a  whole 
week's  holiday,  and  then  went  to  live  at  his  father-in- 
law's,  who  liked  his  son-in-law  so  well  that  he  presently 
built  him  a  small  house  a  mile  off,  into  which  the  young 
couple  moved  when  Captain  Amaziah  came  home  for  the 
winter. 

I  am  afraid  I  shall  again  have  to  state  the  fact  that  Cap 
tain  Amaziah  Baker  was  an  unlucky  man.  He  had  a 
new  vessel,  he  had  a  new  crew,  he  had  brand  spanking 
new  fish-gear ;  but  he  had  his  old  luck.  When  the  first- 
fare  men  came  in  from  the  Banks,  he  was  at  the  tail  of 
the  heap ;  and  he  spent  so  much  time  in  washing  out  his 
fish,  and  bewailing  his  ill-luck,  careening  his  vessel  and 
proving  that  Heaven  had  a  spite  against  him,  that  the 
owners  lost  all  patience  with  him,  and  all  hope  of  their 
second  fare :  in  which  last  they  were  not  disappointed ; 
for  he  came  back  from  the  Banks  on  Thanksgiving  Day, 
and  hadn't  wet  his  salt !  However,  as  he  himself  remark 
ed  to  an  irate  shoresman:  "We'm  not  so  bad  off  arter 
all ;  got  more  fish  than  Jonathan  Young,  'nd  there  ain't 
no  sharper  feller  'n  he  on  the  Cape." 

Now,  when  you  hear  an  unlucky  fisherman  comforting 
himself  at  the  expense  of  an  unluckier,  you  may  guess 
that  his  jig's  up. 

"  'Tain't  whistlin7  makes  the  plow  go,"  said  Uncle  Shu- 


1 6  Captain  Tom:  A  Resurrection. 


bael,  from  whom  I  bad  these  preliminary  facts ;  "  Captain 
Amaziah  was  willin'  enough ;  but  wishers  'nd  woulders 
makes  poor  housekeepers,  'nd  sayin'  'nd  doin's  two  things. 
Ef  young  men  mean  to  git  along  these  days,  they  must 
fly  'round,  V  study  'n'  du  all  in  one  breath.  It's  all  very 
fine  fur  the  captain  to  work  hard,  but  airly  up  may  be 
never  the  nearer,  'nd  forecast's  better'n  work-hard  any 
day ;  'n'  thet's  what  Amaziah  never  hed.  But  ye  can't 
make  a  fog-horn  out  of  a  pig's  tail ;  the  squeal  ain't  in 
that  end,  ye  know.  He  allers  wus  right  down  onlucky, 
'nd  as  my  old  gran'ther  used  to  say,  them  thet's  born  un 
der  a  three  ha'penny  star  '11  never  be  wurth  two-pence. 
He  warn't  jest  slow,  but  he  couldn't  never  strike  when 
the  iron  was  het.  When  he  sailed  other  folks  fished,  'nd 
when  he  hove  to  the  fish  was  always  gone.  He  usen't 
to  keep  with  the  fleet,  'nd  thet's  a  sign  o'  conceit  in  a 
young  man.  When  he  lost  he  al'ays  put  on  a  smooth 
face,  'n'  said  '  good  enough ; '  but  good  enough's  a  poor 
shoat,  'n'  though  good's  good,  better's  better,  /  think. 
'Tain't  a  good  sign  when  a  young  feller  gits  so's't  he  kin 
stan'  it  to  be  tail  o'  the  heap ;  'nd  no  wonder  Amaziah 
stuck  there ;  fur  though  a  man's  friends  may  help  along 
fur  a  while,  every  herrin's  got  to  hang  to  his  own  gills : 
so  what's  the  use  ?  Them  thet's  got  shall  hev,  the  Bible 
says,  'nd,  by  Godfrey,  them  thet's  got  luck  kin  hev  any 
thing  else.  Thet's  what  Pve  found." 

In  short,  to  put  an  end  to  Uncle  Shubael's  twaddle, 
Amaziah  went  on  from  bad  to  worse,  lost  his  schooner 
on  the  rocks  off  Manhegan ;  had  to  go  mate  of  another 
man's  coaster  all  winter — no  joke,  I  assure  you,  to  go  up 


Captain  Tom:  A  Resurrection.  17 


and  down  our  ice-bound  coast  from  Thanksgiving  to  May 
day,  do  all  the  work  and  have  none  of  the  credit — finally, 
fell  to  be  cook  of  a  mackerel-catcher,  and  eked  out  his 
wretched  subsistence  by  digging  clams  on  the  beach,  all 
winter,  at  six  dollars  a  barrel,  frozen  fingers  thrown  in. 
He  worked  hard  enough,  but  got  to  be  dreadfully  slow — 
or,  to  put  it  in  the  Cape  vernacular,  "it  took  him  a  long 
time  to  go  an  hour."  He  had  a  knack  of  being  too  late 
for  every  thing,  and  another  knack  of  always  blaming 
Providence  or  some  of  his  acquaintance  for  this  fatality. 
Finally,  after  losing  all  his  friends,  and  every  thing  else 
he  could  lose,  he  died  and  was  buried,  fully  convinced  to 
the  last  moment  of  his  existence  that  all  his  misfortunes 
were  owing  to  Prudence  Bobbins  refusing  him ;  from  the 
time  of  which  rejection  he  dated  his  uselessness.  Peace 
to  his  bones !  For  such  as  him  there  is  no  resurrection — 
I  mean,  of  course,  in  this  life.  It  must  have  been  a  great 
relief  to  him  to  leave  this  world,  and  it  certainly  was  to 
his  Elmira,  who,  though  she  probably  liked  him  from 
mere  force  of  habit,  had  long  ceased  to  hanker  after  him. 

Did  it  ever  occur  to  you  to  inquire  what  was  the  mak 
ing  of  one  of  your  smart  men  ?  I  don't  mean  a  genius, 
but  a  Yankee ;  a  man  for  any  occasion,  who  is  never  too 
late,  and  makes  even  a  losing  speculation  pay  him  some 
thing?  Nine  times  in  ten  such  a  man  has  had  an  ener 
getic  scold  of  a  mother,  and  a  do-less  father.  So  it  was 
with  Tom — to  whom  I  am  right  glad  to  return  after  this 
dreary  story  of  his  father. 

When  Amaziah  had  the  good  fortune  to  die — the  only 
streak  of  real  luck  in  his  miserable  failure  of  a  life — he 


1 8  Captain  Tom:  A  Restirrection. 


left  Mrs.  Elmira  with  five  children  to  take  care  of.  It 
was  better  than  if  she  had  died  and  left  the  five  to  him ; 
but  yet  it  was  a  hard  case.  She  was  not  sorry  to  have 
the  little  Tom  at  least  support  himself,  and  this  he  began 
to  do  immediately,  by  becoming  cook  of  a  coaster  trading 
between  Boston  and  New  York.  Here  he  was  provided 
for,  and  could  take  his  monthly  six  dollars  to  his  mother, 
who  gave  him  instead  good  counsel,  and,  when  he  needed 
them,  new  clothes,  ingeniously  contrived  out  of  his  fa 
ther's  old  ones. 

Tom  had  what  the  Cape  men  call  '"nuity,"  which 
means  what  the  rest  of  America  calls  "  go-a-headative- 
ness" — a  barbarous  word  which  no  people  would  coin 
who  did  not  find  it  easier  to  coin  money  than  words. 
Little  as  he  was,  he  had  felt  the  multifarious  stings  of  pov 
erty,  and  now  saw  the  world  open  before  him :  his  oyster, 
whose  meat  he  meant  surely  to  taste.  And  so  well  did 
he  use  his  opportunities  that  at  twenty-three  he  was  mate 
of  a  China-trader,  and  at  twenty-eight  captain  and  part- 
owner  of  one  of  the  finest  Indiamen  out  of  Boston. 

I  have  not  time  to  recount  here  the  various  fortunes 
of  these  intermediate  days,  but  know  that  his  native 
shrewdness  never  failed  him  from  the  day  when,  a  little 
shaver  of  twelve  years,  he  begged  a  cabin-boy's  berth  with 
Captain  Nickerson,  and  by  some  occult  trickery  of  bar 
gaining  which  I  think  he  could  not  himself  have  explain 
ed,  got  a  dollar  more  per  month  wages  than  that  close- 
fisted  gentleman  had  intended  to  give  him,  to  the  day 
when  first  he  was  hailed  as  Captain  Tom. 

You  are  not  to  think  that  he  achieved  his  good  fortune 


Captain  Tom:  A  Resurrection.  19 


without  labor.  He  was  not  only  honest  and  faithful ;  he 
was  ever  at  his  post,  and  always  contriving  to  understand 
some  trick  of  steering,  or  stowing,  or  navigation,  which 
was  considerably  beyond  his  years,  and  to  be  in  the  very 
place  where  a  better  man  was  urgently  needed — where 
upon  Tom  incontinently  proved  himself  that  better  man. 
Competent  servants  are  always  rare,  as  your  wife  will  tell 
you,  if  you  have  not  discovered  it  for  yourself;  and  it  did 
not  a  little  for  Tom  that  in  his  various  voyages  his  mas 
ters  could  always  put  their  hands  on  him  when  they 
wanted  any  body.  Moreover,  Tom  had  that  kifld  of  spirit 
which  regards  the  thing  just  now  in  hand  the  best  thing 
in  the  world.  "When  in  his  boyhood  he  swept  the  ship's 
decks,  he  swept  as  though  sweeping  were  the  very  no 
blest  work  to  which  the  human  body  and  soul  could  be 
put ;  and  swept  so  clean  that  he  wrung  reluctant  praises 
from  the  oldest  growler  of  the  forecastle.  In  fact,  Tom 
was  a  new  broom  all  the  while — and  a  new  broom  which 
does  not  get  old  is  almost  as  good  as  a  goose  that  lays 
golden  eggs.  Only,  it  occurs  to  me,  a  man  might  be 
something  more  and  better  than  even  a  new  broom. 

Then  as  he  grew  up  his  watch  below  was  devoted  to 
books.  Novels  sometimes,  perhaps,  though  novels  he  did 
not  grow  to  love;  they  told  him  nothing.  Bowditch 
rather,  and  the  Nautical  Almanac,  and  M'Culloch's  pon 
derous  Dictionary  of  Commerce,  which  last  was  to  him 
the  most  interesting  of  books.  For  he  never  forgot  that 
some  day  he  was  to  be  captain — and  in  those  four  hours 
of  rest  he  got  his  education.  He  knew  all  about  the  odd 
corners  of  the  world;  knew  how,  where,  and  in  what 


20  Captain  Tom:  A  Resurrection. 


quantities  the  great  commercial  staples  are  produced  and 
used ;  and  one  day — it  was  before  he  was  eighteen — sur 
prised  Captain  Kelley  Howes,  busy  planning  out  a  new 
voyage,  by  the  confident  announcement  that  if  he  would 
take  a  cargo  of  codfish  to  the  Cayenne  he  would  make 
money. 

"  Pooh !  pooh !  "  said  the  Captain.  "  Go  about  your 
business,  my  boy.  Don't  be  impertinent." 

"  Hold  on,"  cried  the  owner,  who  was  present,  confer 
ring  with  the  Captain.  "  What  do  you  mean  by  such  im- 
pertinencej  Sir — offering  advice  to  your  master  ?  Explain. 
Why  do  you  want  fish  sent  down  to  French  Guiana?  " 

"They'm  Catholics  down  there,  Sir,  and  they  have 
slaves  besides ;  all  Catholics  eat  fish  on  Friday,  and  salt 
fish  is  cheaper  than  meat,  in  any  hot  country,  for  slave- 
food,"  answered  Tom,  sententiously,  his  face  burning  at 
the  reproof  and  his  own  audacity. 

"  That'll  do !  Now  clear  out,  Master  Philosopher,"  said 
Mr.  Sleeper,  pushing  him  off  the  quarter-deck.  But  he 
turned  to  his  Captain,  and  said,  gravely,  "You  must  take 
care  of  that  lad ;  some  day  I'll  give  him  a  ship." 

He  heard  nothing  further  of  his  impertinent  suggestion, 
but  the  brig  Cerito  went  down  to  the  Spanish  main  with 
a  load  of  dried  cod,  and  on  her  next  voyage  Tom  was  her 
second  mate. 

They  don't  doubt  of  themselves,  these  Cape  boys.  I 
dare  say  when  Tom  .was  twelve  he  felt  himself  equal  to 
the  command  of  a  seventy-four-gun  ship ;  and  what  is 
more,  trusting  to  luck  and  his  native  shrewdness,  would 
have  carried  her  safely  round  the  world.  They  tell  a 


Captain  Tom:  A  Resurrection.  21 


story  of  him,  how  when  first  he  was  second  mate  he  got 
himself,  by  some  foolish  bragging,  a  reputation  for  speak 
ing  Spanish.  Now  the  brig  was  bound  to  Palermo,  and 
losing  a  spar  on  the  outward  passage,  put  into  Port  Ma- 
hon  to  get  it  replaced.  Away  goes  the  Captain  to  order 
his  yard,  but  finds  the  ship-builder  ignorant  of  the  En 
glish  language. 

"  Send  the  second  mate  this  way,"  cried  the  skipper ; 
"  he'll  talk  to  him." 

Whereupon  enter  Tom,  with  inward  trepidation,  but 
much  outward  brass. 

u  Tell  him  I  want  a  new  main-yard,  and  must  have  it 
by  to-morrow  evening." 

TOM  (to  the  Spaniard,  with  a  familiar  air).  "  Senor, 
roundy  come  roundy,  and  squary  come  squary :  you  make 
a  main-yard  for  John  Ingletary  ?  " 

SPANIARD  (amazed).  "No  intendez"  (I  don't  under 
stand).  And  no  wonder  either. 

TOM  (to  skipper,  with  virtuous  indignation).  "  He  says, 
not  in  ten  days,  Sir." 

SKIPPER  (enraged).  "Tell  him  to  go  to  Halifax. 
We'll  hunt  up  some  other  man." 

And  Tom's  luck  did  not  fail  him;  for  the  next  spar- 
maker  they  addressed  understood  English.  Now  the 
point  and  moral  of  this  incident  lies  here :  Tom,  having 
once  successfully  cheated,  did  not  trust  the  devil  again, 
but  sat  himself  down  to  the  study  of  Spanish,  and,  by  the 
help  of  an  Andalusian  whom  they  shipped  at  Mahon, 
could  both  read  and  speak  it  by  the  next  time  he  passed 
Gibraltar.  A  duller  fellow  would  have  chuckled  over 
his  escape,  tried  it  again,  and  failed  miserably.' 


22  Captain  Tom:  A  Resurrection. 


II. 

When  Prudence  Eobbins  gave  to  Uncle  Amaziah  that 
fatal  blow  which  sent  him  staggering  into  the  arms  of 
Elmira  Rogers,  and,  as  he  believed,  crippled  him  for  the 
remainder  of  his  life,  one  of  her  motives  was  this :  she 
loved  somebody  else.  Said  somebody  was  named  Isaiah 
Crowell ;  and  the  marriage  of  Isaiah  and  Prudence,  which 
took  place  in  due  course  of  courtship,  resulted  in :  little 
money,  considerable  happiness,  and  one  daughter,  named 
Mehetabel. 

Now  one  of  the  earliest  playmates  of  little  Hetty  was 
Tom  Baker — at  that  time  little  bigger.  I  suppose  it  was 
out  of  some  latent  kindness  for  the  man  who  had  once 
offered  her  all  the  best  of  men  can  offer  a  woman  that 
Mrs.  Prudence  showed  an  especial  regard  for  little  Tom, 
whose  happiest  hours  were  spent  beneath  her  roof — who, 
as  Uncle  Amaziah  sometimes  remarked,  should  have  been 
his  mother.  The  little  Mehetabel  was  a  pretty  child, 
and  Tom's  earliest  love  affair  had  her  for  its  object.  In 
fact,  until  he  went  to  sea,  he  used  to  call  her  his  little  wife, 
and  when  he  returned  from  his  voyages  he  always 
brought  something — a  bright  handkerchief,  a  box  of  figs, 
a  string  of  coral,  some  gay  sailor  gift,  redolent  of  foreign 
shores — for  her ;  who,  meantime,  grew  persistently  pret 
tier,  till,  at  the  age  of  eighteen,  she  had  a  face  which  would 
have  been  rarely  out  of  Tom  Baker's  memory  had  not 
business  and  the  thoughts  of  his  career  occupied  the  fore 
most  and  most  important  place  there.  But  I  am  sure 


Captain  Tom:  A  Resurrection.  23 


Melietabel  got  more  of  his  thoughts  than  any  thing  else 
but  business.  He  no  longer  dared  call  her  his  little  wife, 
and,  indeed,  got  his  ears  boxed,  when,  coming  home  one 
day,  he  demanded  his  usual  kiss. 

"  Shdd  show  him  that  he  could  not  take  such  liberties 
with  young  ladies  on  the  Cape,  whatever  Mister  Impu 
dence  might  do  to  the  tawny  young  women  he  met  on 
his  voyages ;"  wherein  she  wronged  poor  Tom  sadly,  for 
a  more  faithful  lover  (of  business  and  Mehetabel)  could 
not  have  been,  and  his  career  and  her  fair  image  kept 
him  -unusually  free  from  all  temptation  of  foreign  kisses. 

Poor  Tom !  with  his  sailor  innocence  of  woman's  wiles, 
he  was  considerably  taken  aback.  Confident  of  his  own 
love,  he  had — business-like — taken  hers  for  granted,  and 
had  predetermined  not  to  ask  formally  for  her  till  he  got 
his  ship.  And  now — now,  when  he  felt  like  immediate 
ly  having  his  fate  decided  for  him,  he  did  not  dare. 

Eesult :  what  is  commonly  known  as  a  lovers'  quarrel. 
Tom  sulky:  Mehetabel  pouting.  Tom  savage:  "Het" 
ingeniously  cruel.  Tom  determined  to  go  home  from 
singing -school  with  Het's  aversion,  Mercy  Nickerson : 
"Het"  triumphantly  ahead,  laughing  and  talking  to 
Enoch  Eogers,  Tom's  second  cousin — a  first-class  stupid, 
whom  he  had  already  once  thrashed  for  attentions  to 
Mehetabel.  Whereupon  Tom,  humbled,  bit  the  dust, 
and  tried  to  mollify  the  saucy  beauty  by  a  present  of  his 
best  Canton  silk  handkerchief,  which  was  received  with 
a  toss  of  the  beautiful  head,  and  a  look  of  the  wicked 
gray  eyes,  which  said,  plainly,  "  FU  show  you,  Mister 
Impudence." 


24  Captain  Tom:  A  Resiirrection. 


This  time  Tom  was  chief  mate.  They  were  bound  on 
a  long  voyage,  and  the  poor  fellow  finally  determined  to 
tell  his  love  and  know  his  fate  before  he  sailed.  What 
long  hours  he  spent  in  devising  the  scene  in  which  the 
important  revelation  was  to  be  made !  How  he  deter 
mined  each  day,  as  his  sailing-day  drew  near,  that  now, 
this  evening,  before  he  slept,  all  should  be  over !  How, 
neglecting  the  while  even  the  sacred  thoughts  of  busi 
ness,  he  rehearsed  to  himself,  shaving  before  his  little 
round  pocket-glass,  or  walking  alone  among  the  scrub 
pines  on  the  sand-beach,  or  sailing  his  boat  across  the 
bay,  the  very  words  in  which  he  would  ask  for  the  great 
prize!  And  then,  when  all  was  arranged  —  when  the 
very  manner  in  which  the  subject  of  subjects  should  be 
introduced  was  ingeniously  devised,  and  the  fatal  trap 
was  ready  to  be  sprung — behold !  the  victim  was  away  ! 
She  had  a  headache,  or  she  had  promised  to  go  out  with 
Enoch,  or  she  preferred  to  stay  at  home  with  father  and 
mother :  but  plainly  she  had  some  instinctive  perception 
of  what  was  coming,  and  avoided  it,  as  women  know 
how  to  avoid  what  they  do  not  wish  to  meet.  Day  after 
day  Tom  lingered  in  torture,  till  at  last  he  must  be  off; 
and,  going  over  to  say  farewell  to  Mrs.  Prudence  and 
her  daughter,  now  firmly  determined  to  bring  matters  to 
some  distinct  issue,  he  found  Miss  Mehetabel — gone  to 
Hyannis  to  spend  a  week ! 

"  She'll  be  sorry  not  to  have  bid  you  good-bye,  Tom," 
said  kind  Mrs.  Crowell ;  and  with  this  morsel  of  cold 
comfort  he  was  obliged  to  take  off  his  wounded  heart 
Canton-ward. 


Captain  TOM:  A  Resurrection.  25 


To  tell  the  truth  Mehetabel  did  not  love  any  one — 
but  especially  not  him — and  she  had  just  begun  to  dis 
cover  that  fact.  She  had  indeed  "  liked  him  well 
enough  " — oh,  fatal  phrase  to  lovers ! — in  that  girlhood 
which  was  just  now  ripening  into  dangerous  woman 
hood.  That  is  to  say,  he  was  her  earliest  playmate,  and 
she  was  always  glad  to  see  him.  But  in  these  last  years 
Tom's  sober  business  face,  on  which  the  untimely  cares 
and  eager  ambition  of  his  life  had  written  their  hard 
lines  too  early,  had  lost  its  charm  for  her.  I  have  no 
ticed  that  your  thoroughly  lucky  man,  who  rushes  on 
through  the  world,  conquering  and  to  conquer,  master 
ing  every  opposing  circumstance,  winning  every  point 
on  which  he  sets  his  mind,  scarce  ever  gains  the  woman's 
heart  he  loves.  For  women  have  an  instinctive  horror 
of  worldliness — an  instinctive  jealousy  which  closes  their 
hearts  against  the  man  who  may  in  after-life  care  less  for 
wife  and  babies  than  for  bank  stock,  and  live  more  in 
Wall  Street  than  in  the  bosom  of  his  family.  "  Thou 
shalt  have  no  other  love  but  mine,"  says  every  true 
woman's  heart;  and  so  when  your  conquering  hero 
confidently  assails  this  last  frail  fortress  of  a  woman's 
heart,  he  finds  it  impregnable — to  him. 

So  it  was  with  Tom ;  and  while  he  was  going  on  from 
luck  to  luck,  and  saw  himself  now  presently  to  be  not 
only  rich  but  honored — while  he  was  eagerly  grasping 
all  he  could  of  that  good  which  was  to  him  supreme,  be 
hold,  Mehetabel  was  lost  to  him  forever. 

There  came  home  one  day  from  sea  one  Farley  Bur 
gess,  of  whom  strange  stories  were  told  on  the  Cape.  He 

B 


26  Captain  Tom:  A  Resurrection. 


had  been  mate  of  a  ship  bound  to  Eio,  and  on  the  out 
ward  passage  his  vessel  had  foundered  and  sunk.  For 
many  days  they  floated  about,  in  a  small  boat,  at  the 
mercy  of  the  winds  and  waves ;  slowly  perishing  of  hun 
ger  and  thirst ;  at  last  lifting  ravenous  eyes  to  each  oth 
er,  with  dreadful  thoughts  of  what  should  come  to-mor 
row.  Till  one  glad  morning  the  wretched  crew  were 
picked  up  by  a  passing  ship.  Now,  in  all  these  days  of 
heaviest  trial,  young  Burgess  had  been  the  life  of  his 
companions,  keeping  up  their  fainting  hopes,  denying 
himself  a  part  of  even  his  small  share  of  bread  and  water 
to  comfort  his  dying  captain ;  in  all  things  a  brave,  self- 
sacrificing,  hopeful  soul.  His  shipmates  did  not  speak  of 
him  but  with  tears  in  their  honest  eyes.  And  now  he 
was  come  home,  penniless,  almost  shirtless,  to  gain  some 
strength  to  tempt  the  deep  once  more. 

I  suppose  you  think  they  made  a  hero  of  him — those 
staid  old  Cape  folk?  Not  they.  Heroism  is  too  com 
mon  with  them  for  that. 

"Well,  Burgess,"  said  Captain  Young,  "I  hearn  ye 
had  bad  luck,  boy  ?  " 

"Yes,  Sir;  not  so  bad's  it  might  ha'  been,  though." 

"  Well,  well,  better  luck  next  time.  Heard  you  held 
yourself  like  a  man,  though.  That's  right.  Want  to 
come  mackereling  with  me  ?  " 

That  was  Farley  Burgess's  welcome  home.  From  the 
Cape  men,  at  least;  who  appreciate  manliness  readily 
enough,  but  having  it  also  in  their  own  bones,  don't  fling 
up  their  hats  and  make  speeches  when  one  of  their  fel 
lows  has  done  his  duty  man  fashion.  But  the  Cape 


Captain  Tom:  A  Resurrection.  27 


women — God  bless  them  ! — in  their  quiet  hearts  Farley 
Burgess  found  such  welcome  that  he  had  never  in  his 
life  seen  so  many  bright  eyes  as  now  rested  upon  his 
patched  shirt  and  starved  face. 

And  brightest  of  all  were  the  gray  eyes  of  Mehetabel 
Crowell. 

Tom's  luck  was  nothing  against  this  man's  misfortunes. 
Tom's  smart  looks  and  Canton  handkerchiefs  stood  no 
chance  against  Farley's  torn  clothes  and  sea-washed  face. 

And  so  Tom,  Baker's  fate  was  decided  in  his  absence. 


III. 

When  he  came  home  Farley  and  Mehetabel  were  be 
trothed.  When  they  should  be  married  was  a  question 
of  time  and  luck;  for  on  the  Cape  young  folks  must 
have  a  house  and  garden  spot  of  their  own  before  their 
marriage  is  like  to  have  the  applause  of  a  prudent  and 
comfort-loving  public,  which  has  the  fear  of  poverty  ever 
before  its  eyes. 

Tom  came  home  with  an  easy,  self-satisfied  swagger, 
excusable  enough  in  one  who  at  twenty-eight,  and  with 
out  help  of  rich  friends,  has  achieved  the  command  of 
an  Indiaman.  This  time  a  crape  shawl  was  brought  for 
Miss  Mehetabel's  acceptance;  and  when  offered,  was 
kindly  declined. 

"  Why  ?  It  was  not  seemly  for  a  young  girl  to  accept 
such  presents  even  from  a  good  friend,  as  Tom  was,  and, 
she  hoped,  always  would  be,"  was  Het's  timid  explana 
tion. 


28  Captain  Tom:  A  Resurrection. 


Whereupon  Tom  refused  longer  to  be  called  friend, 
and  bluntly  demanded  right  to  a  dearer  title. 

And  then  it  all  came  out.  How  Mehetabel  had  al 
ways  liked  Tom,  and  always  would.  How  she  loved 
some  one  else.  How  she  had  never  loved  him.  "  Had 
she  ever  told  him  she  did  ?  "  she  asked,  wickedly  unable 
to  restrain  this  little  stinging  reproof  to  one  who  had,  it 
seemed  to  her,  been  all  too  confident  of  a  love  which  he 
had  taken  little  care  to  gain,  except  by  gifts;  and  Het's 
cheeks  glowed,  and  her  heart  grew  scornful,  as  the 
thought  came  that  perhaps  this  proud  young  sultan 
thought  a  Canton  handkerchief  guerdon  enough  of  love. 

"  And  who  is  the  happy  man,  Miss  Mehetabel?  "  asked 
Tom,  with  a  quite  perceptible  sneer,  when  he  found 
speech  of  his  rage  and  surprise. 

"  Tom,"  cried  Het,  bursting  into  tears,  "  don't  speak 
so  to  me!  What  have  I  done  that  you  must  look  so? 
Did  /  know  ?  Did  you  ever  ask  me  to  love  you  ?  / 
never  knew  you  loved  any  one  better  than  your  ship  and 
your  voyage.  And  if  I  do  love  Farley  Burgess,  and  he 
loves  me,  there's  no  reason  you  should  be  mad ! " 

"Farley  Burgess,  eh?  "  said  Tom,  stung  beyond  self- 
possession  ;  "  well,  I  wish  you  joy  of  Mr.  Farley  Bur 
gess,  that's  all.  Good-bye ! " 

And  he  left  poor  Mehetabel  sobbing,  and  went  home 
to  his  little  room,  locked  himself  in,  and  there  silently 
surveyed  his  defeat. 

It  strikes  men  differently,  this  accident  which  had  just 
now  befallen  Captain  Tom.  For  an  accident  I  must  call 
it,  seeing  that  women  are  the  most  inconsistent  and  uncer- 


Captain  Tom :  A  Resurrection.  29 

tain  of  created  beings.  I  have  known  a  man  thorough 
ly  humbled  by  a  rejection.  Have  seen  him  after,  a  little 
sadder,  a  little  lonelier  perhaps,  but  also  a  great  deal  ten 
derer,  wiser,  manlier ;  acquiescing  in  his  fate ;  acknowl 
edging  that  he  was  not  worthy  this  divine  blessing  of  a 
true  woman's  love  ;  but  cherishing  her  memory  ever  aft 
er  with  a  love  purer,  kinder,  nobler,  because  less  selfish 
than  before :  such  a  love  as  many  a  Benedick  rises  to 
only  after  years  of  trial  and  suffering  have  cleansed  him 
and  made  him  pure.  Giving  thereafter  to  all  the  world 
but  especially  to  all  pure  women  and  little  children,  this 
wealth  of  love  which  she  could  afford  to  do  without,  and 
growing  into  genial  old  bachelorhood  with  the  fine  grace 
of  a  loving  heart  ever  surrounding  and  brightening  his 
life. 

Captain  Tom  was  another  manner  of  man.  The  bit 
terness  of  death  was  in  his  heart  as  he  paced  the  narrow 
floor  of  his  little  room.  He  gnashed  his  teeth,  and  swore 
great  oaths  of  vengeance  for  this  his  first  defeat  in  life. 
There  is  no  finer  fellow  in  the  world  than  your  prosper 
ous  go-ahead  man  —  while  fortune  favors  him,  that  is. 
He  acquits  himself  of  life  with  a  graceful  swing  which 
captivates  all  beholders,  of  the  male  sex  particularly  ; 
finds  it  easy  enough  to  be  witty  or  generous ;  and  stand 
ing  at  the  top,  flings  down  with  gracious  complaisance 
his  penny  or  his  good  word  to  the  poor  devils  below. 
Every  man  gives  him  his  hand,  and  by  very  virtue  of 
his  success  he  gains  the  air  which  wins  him  greater  luck. 
But  beware  of  this  man's  first  defeat.  Napoleon  carries 
all  before  him  till  Waterloo,  and  then  never  was  so 


30  Captain  Tom:  A  Resurrection. 


mean  and  undignified  a  prisoner  as  he.  Tom  gnashed 
his  teeth  in  impotent  rage.  How  could  he  be  revenged  ? 
and  how  could  he  live  without  his  satisfaction?  To 
thrash  Farley  Burgess  was  of  course  the  first  thought. 
But  then — setting  aside  the  chance  that  he  might  not 
succeed  in  this  so  very  well — it  occurred  that  this  would 
only  make  him  a  laughing-stock  to  his  friends.  To  marry 
some  one  else?  Tom  smiled  sardonically,  and  vowed 
eternal  hatred,  not  to  this  one  woman  alone,  but  to  all 
the  tribe !  "What  should  he  do  ?  What  could  he  do  ? 
that  was  the  worst. 

Pondering  which  things,  he  opened  a  letter  from  his 
owners,  which  that  afternoon's  mail  had  brought  from 
Boston.  And  as  he  read  his  face  lit  up  with  a  smile  so 
devilish  in  its  malignity  that  now  indeed  it  was  evident 
he  had  found  his  revenge. 

And  so  he  had.  The  letter  related  that  his  ship  was 
nearly  ready.  That  he  would  please  report  himself  in 
Boston  in  one  week  from  date.  That  if  he  could  pick 
up  at  home  three  or  four  good  boys  it  would  be  well  to 
ship  them.  That  probably  Mr.  Farley  Burgess,  whom 
the  owners  had  engaged  as  second  mate,  would  be  able 
to  give  him  some  assistance  in  this.  That  said  Burgess 
had  been  some  time  waiting  for  a  berth,  and  as  they 
knew  him  to  be  a  trustworthy  and  intelligent  man,  they 
trusted  Captain  Baker  would  be  pleased  with  his  second 
officer.  That  they  remained  his  obedient  servants. 

"  D —  him,"  muttered  Captain  Tom,  crushing  the  letter 
in  his  hand,  "  I've  got  him  now." 

Tom  had  him  sure  enough.    He  was  abundantly  satis- 


Captain  Tom:  A  Resurrection.  31 


— so  he  wrote  the  owners — and  as  for  Farley,  even  if 
he  had  not  been  satisfied,  which,  knowing  nothing  of  the 
storm  he  had  raised  in  his  Captain's  heart,  was  not  the 
case,  Tom  knew  he  would  not  back  out. 

I  need  not  stop  to  recount  all  the  guileless  ways  in 
which  poor  Mehetabel  sought  to  mollify  the  rage  of  her 
lost  lover — to  show  him  what  he  would  by  no  means 
see,  that  he  alone  was  in  fault;  to  win  from  him  one 
good  word,  or  insinuate  into  his  hard  heart  one  kindly 
thought  of  her  he  had  so  professed  to  love.  Tom  cher 
ished  his  hatred,  his  sense  of  injury  received  and  revenge 
due,  as  men  always  cherish  the  devil  when  he  has  se 
cured  a  snug  corner  in  their  hearts.  "  His  old  luck  had 
not  failed  him  yet,"  he  said  to  himself,  "  for  what  could 
be  luckier  than  to  have  his  arch-enemy  at  this  vantage  ?  " 

Poor  Mehetabel  had  little  comfort  of  her  love.  For 
she  knew,  better  than  you  do,  probably,  fair  reader,  how 
thoroughly  indeed  Tom  had  Burgess  in  his  power.  At 
best  the  second  mate  of  a  ship  is  only  the  chief  drudge. 
The  first  on  deck  and  the  last  to  leave  it ;  the  first  to 
put  his  hand  to  every  mean  toil;  the  first  to  leap  to 
every  place  of  peril ;  the  first  to  be  blamed  if  any  thing 
goes  wrong ;  the  last  to  receive  credit  if  all  goes  right. 

It  is  no  small  matter  to  hold  creditably  this  post,  which 
demands,  for  the  wages  of  a  porter,  all  the  manual  skill 
of  the  finest  old  sailor ;  all  the  energy  and  endurance  of 
a  dray  horse  ;  all  the  judgment,  knowledge,  and  fertility 
of  resource  necessary  to  command  a  man-of-war.  Then 
consider  that  the  autocrat  who  holds  in  his  hands  the 
few  morsels  of  comfort  left  to  this  luckless  mortal  is  his 


32  Captain  Tom:  A  Resurrection. 


deadly  enemy,  and  has  not  only  power  and  will,  but 
time,  place,  and  opportunity,  to  wreak  upon  him  every 
small  indignity,  every  discomforting  annoyance  which 
the  devil  of  ingenuity  can  prompt.  No  wonder  poor 
Mehetabel  carried  her  anxious  face  over  to  old  Mrs. 
Baker's,  and  humbled  herself  in  vain  efforts  to  make  it 
up  with  Tom. 


IV. 

And  so  the  good  ship  Mdchior  sailed. 

Do  you  know  what  they  call  "  hazing  "  at  sea  ?  Haz 
ing  is  the  art  of  tormenting  systematized  ;  it  is  making  a 
man  unhappy  without  breaking  his  bones  ;  it  is  adroitly 
robbing  him  of  every  privilege  and  comfort  which  the 
law  does  not  in  so  many  words  secure  him ;  heaping 
upon  him  every  indignity  short  of  that  last  point  where 
even  prudent  men  come  to  blows;  artfully  indulging 
every  other  man  that  this  man's  complaints  may  find  no 
backers :  in  short,  it  is  making  of  the  narrow  decks  of 
an  Indiaman  such  a  hell  that  many  a  good  man  has  been 
hazed  overboard  to  cool  his  agony  in  a  watery  grave  ;  and 
many  another,  less  lucky,  has  been  hazed  into  murdering 
his  hazer — whereupon  the  majesty  of  the  law  steps  in 
and  virtuously  strings  him  up.  This  is  hazing.  They 
say  our  American  captains  are  good  at  it.  I  have  known 
one  or  two  who  were.  There  was  Captain  Carver— but 
he  was  a  fool. 

And  to  this  work  Captain  Tom — dead  and  damned  if 
ever  a  living  man  was  in  this  world — now  devoted  long 


Captain  Tom:  A  Resurrection.  33 


days  and  studious  nights.  The  sore  which  festered  at 
his  heart  left  him  no  peace,  no  rest,  no  joy.  His  black 
face,  not  scowling,  but  carrying  ever  a  fine  devilish  sneer, 
cast  its  gloom  even  to  the  bows  of  the  old  ship,  whose 
good  heart  of  oak  had  surely  never  before  carried  such 
an  infernal  load  as  this. 

And  truly  he  hazed  Farley  Burgess. 

The  Highland  light  was  not  yet  out  of  sight  when  the 
work  began.  The  foretop-sail  was  to  be  reefed,  and 
Captain  Tom,  well  knowing  that  if  at  this  first  reefing 
match  the  second  mate  did  not  get  his  weather  earing  he 
would  be  disgraced  forever  with  the  crew,  by  various 
subterfuges  kept  him  aft  till  the  gear  was  hauled  out  and 
the  men  were  in  the  rigging.  This  time,  though,  Farley 
was  too  much  for  him,  for,  springing  on  the  yard,  he  ran 
out  over  the  men's  heads,  to  their  no  slight  admiration, 
and  took  his  place  of  honor. 

But  this  was  only  a  beginning,  and  Captain  Tom  was 
not  the  man  to  be  defeated  on  his  own  deck.  Day  and 
night  he  found  fault.  If  the  log  was  not  written  up  at 
the  exact  time ;  if  the  ship  was  steered  badly ;  if  too 
much  or  too  little  sail  was  made ;  if  the  wind  changed 
suddenly,  and  she  was  not  at  once  put  about,  down  he 
came  on  the  second  mate.  He  refused  new  rope,  and 
when  a  halyard  carried  away  called  Mr.  Burgess  to  ac 
count.  He  deprived  the  morning  watch  of  their  six 
o'clock  coffee,  and  contrived  that  the  second  mate  should 
bear  the  blame.  The  starboard  watch  always  holy 
stoned  the  decks — by  his  secret  orders  to  Burgess — 
while  the  mate's  watch  simply  washed  down  ;  and  thus 

B2 


34  Captain  Tom:  A  Resurrection. 


poor  Burgess  fell  into  bad  odor  with  his  crew,  as  one 
who  tried  to  "  curry  favor"  with  the  Captain.  He  curry 
favor !  He  lingered  over  his  dinner,  in  pleasant  converse 
with  the  mate,  knowing  that  meantime  the  second  mate's 
dinner  was  spoiling.  Shall  I  tell  you  more  of  the  small, 
maddening  tyrannies  of  the  sea  ?  No ;  let  it  suffice  that 
the  devil  need  want  no  better  position  to  wreak  his  spite 
on  any  poor  human  soul  than  this  of  Captain  Tom's: 
autocrat  of  an  Indiaman ;  lord  of  all  he  surveys ;  holding 
a  power  of  more  than  life  and  death  over  the  wretches 
who  must  go  when  he  says  go,  come  when  he  says  come, 
and  stand  silent  when  his  lordship,  moved  by  indiges 
tion,  or  a  broken  night's  slumber,  vents  his  spleen  upon 
them. 

Let  it  suffice,  that,  whatever  artifice  any  malignant 
genius  could  suggest,  Captain  Tom  unscrupulously  used 
to  bring  his  second  mate  into  contempt,  and  to  make  his 
life  thoroughly  wretched.  Always  stopping  short,  re 
member,  at  that  point — very  far  off,  indeed,  on  shipboard 
— where  resistance  becomes  a  virtue:  though  not  even 
then  a  lawful  virtue.  For  bear  in  mind  that,  under  our 
blessed  laws,  your  Captain  may  starve  you,  may  curse 
you,  may  beat  you,  may  force  you  to  peril  your  life  be 
yond  hope  of  salvation,  and  you  may  not  resist — may 
not  even  remonstrate.  You  may  sue  for  damages — that 
is,  if  you  survive,  and  your  tyrant  does  not  leave  the 
ship  at  Sandy  Hook,  and  disappear  till  you  have  gone 
to  sea  again  to  keep  bread  in  your  mouth,  as  some  of  our 
"Bully"  New  York  captains  used  to  do,  and  do  now, 
for  aught  I  know. 


Captain   Tom :  A  Resurrection.  35 


And  Farley  Burgess  bore  it  all.  Patiently,  silently : 
only  not  defiantly,  for  he  felt  that  if  it  once  came  to  de 
fiance,  actual  battle  would  be  imminent  —  and  then  — 
Mehetabel.  How  he  repined  over  the  hard  fate  which 
tied  his  hands,  and  bound  him,  an  honorable  brave  man, 
every  inch  a  sailor,  to  bear,  unresisting,  the  contumely 
of  such  a  master !  Once,  indeed,  he  ventured  on  a  word. 
They  lay  in  Canton  Kiver,  opposite  Whampoa ;  and  Far 
ley  said — 

"  Captain  Baker,  you  don't  seem  to  bo  satisfied  with 
me." 

"  Yes,  Sir,"  replied  Tom,  with  a  gleam  of  malignant 
triumph  in  his  eyes,  "  I  am  satisfied  ;  why  ?  " 

"  You  don't  show  it,  Sir ;  and  I  have  to  say  that  if 
you  want  to  be  rid  of  me,  you  need  only  make  out  my 
discharge." 

"  No,  Sir ;  if  you  don't  like  your  berth  you  may  desert. 
I  don't  think  I  shall  look  for  jou.  But  I'm  satisfied." 
And  the  cool  villain  turned  away. 

Of  course  Burgess  could  not  desert,  and  thus  stain  his 
fair  fame  at  home  with  bride  and  owners. 

The  passage  home  was  just  as  bad.  There  was  no  re 
lenting  in  Captain  Tom,  who,  to  tell  the  truth,  was  get 
ting  such  a  habit  of  abusing  his  second  mate  that  he 
would  have  found  it  difficult  to  leave  off.  Day  by  day 
his  heart  grew  blacker  with  the  hate  he  so  carefully 
nourished.  Day  by  day  as  he  himself  grew  more  wretch 
ed,  he  found  more  pleasure  in  hazing  Burgess.  But 
even  a  passage  home  must  come  to  an  end.  I  scarce 
know  what  was  in  these  men's  hearts,  toward  each  other, 


36  Captain   Tom :  A  Resurrection. 


as  they  approached  once  more  their  native  shores.  Cap 
tain  Tom.  thought  only  of  the  present,  and  probably 
gave  no  heed  to  the  day  of  reckoning  which  was  ap 
proaching.  And  Burgess?  "I'll  thrash  this  beast,  in 
Boston,  till  every  bone  of  his  body  cries  for  mercy." 
This  was  what  honest  Farley  Burgess  said  to  himself 
fifty  times  a  day,  counting  eagerly  every  mile  the  good 
ship  bore  him  on  his  way  to  liberty  and  revenge.  For 
even  an  honorable  brave  man  may  be  imbruted  by  such 
persistent  devilishness  as  Captain  Tom's. 

And  now  they  near  the  land.  Still  no  let-up  from 
Captain  Tom.  And  now  they  see  the  land,  the  old 
Highland  of  Cape  Cod ;  and  to-morrow  Farley  Burgess 
means,  "God  willing,"  to  give  this  his  tyrant  such  a 
warning  as  will  go  far  to  make  a  man  of  him,  if  he  sur 
vives. 

"  God  willing." 

They  had  been  slowly  drifting  all  night,  and  just 
caught  a  glimpse  of  the  land  in  the  dim  distance,  as  the 
morning  sun  rose  fiery  out  of  the  ocean  and  plunged 
into  the  other  sea,  of  clouds,  which  waited  his  appear 
ance  to  hang  out  their  colors  of  fierce  portentous  scarlet 
and  crimson. 

"Sunrise  red  in  the  morning, 
Sailors  take  warning." 

chanted  old  Harry  Hill,  a  sturdy  croaker  of  the  forecas 
tle,  who,  by  dint  of  persistently  foretelling  ill-luck,  now 
and  then  got  himself  the  reputation  of  a  prophet 

"  Never  heed  the  warning,"  replied  Burgess.     "  To- 


Captain  Tom:  A  Resurrection.  37 


morrow  night  you'll  sleep  softer  than  you've  done  this 
year  past,  old  Harry,  in  your  snug  Sailors'  Home." 

All  day  they  drifted  down  upon  the  land — no  wind, 
but  only  a  rapid  tide  setting  the  ship  with  no  small 
speed  along  the  bending  shore,  till  at  last  it  seemed  they 
must  round  the  Eace,  and  drift  past  Wood  End,  fairly 
into  Provincetown  harbor. 

Better  they  had. 

Toward  night  a  slight  breeze  was  felt  from  the  south- 
w.ard,  and  spreading  all  studding-sails,  threatening  as  it 
looked,  Captain  Tom  urged  the  good  ship  on. 

But  scarcely  were  the  studding-sails  set  when  the 
breeze  chopped  round  to  the  north.  The  great  white 
clouds  which  had  rolled  over  and  over  along  the  horizon 
all  day,  rose,  as  by  magic,  and  covered  the  whole  sky ; 
the  wind  came  in  sharp  puffs,  each  stronger  than  the 
last ;  and  by  the  time  the  topsails  were  close-reefed  there 
blew  a  gale  from  the  north,  beneath  which  the  old  ship 
lay  down  almost  to  her  beam  ends. 

When  they  had  once  more  time  to  look  round,  they 
found  themselves  where  they  should  not  have  been 
caught  in  this  gale.  The  land  of  the  Cape  trends  by  a 
long  slow  curve  from  the  Highland  light  to  the  west  and 
south  ;  and  by  a  shorter  semicircle,  from  the  Eace,  forms 
the  landlocked  harbor  of  Provincetown.  Between  the 
Eace  and  the  Highland  is  a  stretch  of  high  bluff,  with  a 
narrow  beach  running  along  its  foot,  and  this,  from  its 
shape,  is  known  to  navigators  as  the  "  back."  of  the 
Cape — the  place  where  many  a  good  homeward-bound 
ship  has  laid  her  bones  to  bleach.  Now,  while  the  Mel- 


38  Captain  Tom:  A  Resurrection.  • 


cJiior  lay  becalmed,  the  tide,  which  runs  along  here  like  a 
mill-race,  had  set  her  imperceptibly  past  the  Eace,  and 
left  her  with  this  fatal  "  back  "  dead  under  her  lee. 

There  was  no  time  for  deliberation.  Putting  the  ship 
on  the  port  tack,  Captain  Tom  shook  a  reef  out  of  his 
main  and  foretop-sails,  set  his  whole  foresail  and  reefed 
mainsail,  and  sending  the  best  man  to  the  helm,  sought 
to  drive  her  past  the  bluff  point  which  now  loomed  fear- 
fully  near,  through  the  dark  gloom  of  the  night. 

"  If  only  the  tide  favored  us,"  sighed  he  to  himself. 
But  the  deadly  tide  of  the  Eace  favors  no  man. 

On  she  forged,  groaning  grievously  under  the  tremen 
dous  pressure  of  her  canvas,  which  sent  her  headlong  into 
vast  seas,  each  one  of  which  it  seemed  must  be  her  tomb. 
The  men  held  on  about  the  quarter-deck — there  was  no 
living,  forward — and  with  set  faces  awaited  the  event, 
powerless  to  do  more.  The  officers  stood  aft,  watching 
the  helmsman;  scanning  close  the  sails  and  rigging,  fear 
ful  lest  some  overstrained  piece  of  cordage  might  give 
way  and  plunge  all  into  ruin.  Captain  Tom,  silent,  grim, 
every  nerve  braced,  every  sense  alive  to  the  occasion,  held 
by  the  mizzen  rigging,  now  watching  the  red  glare  of  the 
light,  which  shone  almost  down  upon  his  decks,  now  com 
manding  the  helmsman  to  "  ease  her  when  she  pitches — 
you'll  have  the  masts  out  of  her  next ! " — as  though  old 
Harry  Hill  had  not  steered  a  frigate  ere  now,  in  as  tight 
a  place  as  this. 

"  We  don't  gain  much,  Sir,"  shouted  Mr.  Falconer,  the 
chief  mate,  in  the  Captain's  ear,  pointing  to  the  high 
bluff  which  already  seemed  overtopping  the  masts,  and 


Captain  Tom:  A  Resurrection.  39 


from  whose  edge  the  fearful  glare  of  the  light-house  light 
seemed  calmly  eying  them,  as  some  one-eyed  Polyphe 
mus  waiting  for  the  prey  which  should  be  surely  his. 

" No,  Sir,  we  lose,"  was  Captain  Tom's  reply ;  "set 
the  mizzen  topsail,  close-reefed,  and  go  out,  some  one, 
and  loose  the  jib  !" 

The  men  looked  aghast.  Five  or  six  sprang  to  pre 
pare  the  mizzen  topsail ;  but  no  one  moved  forward. 

"  Loose  the  jib !  d'ye  hear  there  ?  "What  are  ye  wait 
ing  for?"  shouted  Tom,  chafing  at  the  delay. 

"  No  man  can  lie  out  on  that  boom  and  live,  Sir,"  said 
an  old  seaman,  touching  his  forelock ;-  and  as  he  spoke 
a  solid  green  sea  boarded  her  over  the  bows,  submerging 
bowsprit  and  jib-boom,  and  swept  aft  an  avalanche  of 
water,  bearing  before  it  caboose,  water-casks,  every  thing 
movable  on  deck — ready  witness  to  the  impossibility. 

"Loose  the  jib,  I  tell  ye!"  shouted  Captain  Tom. 
"  Who  says  cartt  here  ?  Let  me  hear  it  once ! " 

But  as  he  spoke  a  form  was  seen  struggling  out  on 
the  bowsprit,  and,  bewildered  and  cowed,  the  crew  lay 
forward  to  hoist  away.  In  the  din  of  waters  no  voice 
could  be  heard,  and  no  soul  knew  who  was  the  daring  fel 
low  who  had  risked  all  at  their  mad  Captain's  word,  till, 
as  her  bows  were  lifted  on  a  vast  wave,  Farley  Burgess 
made  one  mighty  leap  from  the  bowsprit  end,  and  land 
ed  fairly  on  the  top-gallant  forecastle.  So  the  jib  was 
set. 

And  still  the  fiery  eye  looks  down  upon  them  through 
the  storm,  calm,  inscrutable  as  fate,  in  the  midst  of  the 
raging  gale,  only  waiting,  waiting  for  the  hapless  prey 


4o  Captain  Tom:  A  Resurrection. 


which  vainly  struggles  in  the  toils.  And  now  the  hollow 
boom  of  the  surf  becomes  dimly  audible  amid  the  groan 
ing  and  creaking  of  the  timbers,  the  wild  shrieking  of  the 
gale,  and  the  fierce  rush  of  the  mighty  sea. 

"  I  hear  it ! "  shrieked  Captain  Tom  to  his  mate,  "  I  hear 
it !  But  if  all  holds  we'll  drive  her  by  yet ! "  And  stand 
ing  on  his  own  deck  there,  he  looked,  in  this  last  extrem 
ity,  happier,  better,  than  he  had  looked  or  felt  these  many 
months.  ;.- 

If  all  holds !  But  what  is  that  ?  With  a  sound  as  of 
a  sudden  thunder-crash,  the  brand-new  main-topsail  splits, 
and  in  a  moment  is  blown  into  a  hundred  thousand  shreds. 

"My  God!" 

"  Mind  your  helm !     Ease  her !     Ease  her  now ! " 

Too  late !  No  human  hand  can  ease  her  now.  The 
surf  has  her;  and  as  she  feels  the  fierce,  passionate  jerk 
of  the  under- tow,  as  she  is  pitched,  and  tossed,  and  twisted 
in  the  relentless  grasp,  a  mere  chip  in  this  maelstrom,  a 
straw  in  the  torrent  of  Niagara,  Captain  Tom's  voice 
is  heard,  ringing  out  above  even  this  thunderous  roar, 
"  Hold  fast,  every  body !  " 

And  none  too  soon.  For,  rising  for  the  last  time  in 
her  life  on  a  vast,  towering,  foam-topped  billow,  the  good 
old  ship  is  hurled  crashing  to  her  doom.  Down,  down, 
down !  Will  she  never  stop  ?  It  is  but  half  a  second : 
it  seems  many  minutes  to  those  who,  with  clenched  teeth 
and  streaming  hair,  cling  to  the  shrouds,  till,  with  a  shock 
as  of  two  planets  meeting,  she  strikes  the  beach ! 

"  God  help  my  poor  men !  "  sobbed  Captain  Tom,  as  he 
felt  himself  torn  from  his  firm  grasp  of  the  rigging,  and 


Captain  Tom :  A  Resurrection.  41 


slung  far  into  the  seething  caldron  of  waters ;  slung  out 
into  the  surf,  where,  for  a  moment  striking  out,  there 
comes  a  great  blinding  shock,  as  though  his  head  were 
splitting,  and  then  Captain  Tom  closes  his  eyes,  folds  his 
hands,  and  knows  no  more. 

Meantime,  a  more  fortunate  wave  had  cast  six  half- 
drowned  men  upon  the  narrow  beach;  to  whom,  just 
collecting  their  scattered  senses,  crawled  slowly  the  sec 
ond  mate. 

"How  many  are  we  here?  Thank  God!"  exclaimed 
he.  Then  scarce  waiting  to  get  a  little  breath,  he  gather 
ed  himself  to  the  rescue  of  his  drowning  shipmates. 

"  Ilere,  hold  this  line."  With  wise  forethought  Bur 
gess  had  tied  about  his  body  a  small  strong  line  of  con 
siderable  length,  and  with  this  about  him,  gathering  a  few 
hasty  breaths  of  spray-laden  air,  he  now  rushed  back  into 
the  roaring  surf,  intent  on  saving  whom  he  might;  but 
first  of  all  his  enemy — his  Captain. 

Once  he  returns,  bearing  the  lifeless  body  of  the  stew 
ard. 

A  second  time,  and  the  boiling  surge  gives  up  to  him 
a  half-drowned  seaman. 

Again,  and  yet  no  Captain. 

Yet  once  more !  Breaking  from  the  men,  he  rushes  in 
to  grasp  what  may  come  to  his  hands.  Buffeted,  blinded, 
only  half  conscious  himself,  they  are  already  pulling  him 
back,  when  his  fingers  close  mechanically  on  the  hair  of 
one  dashed  by  on  the  long  sweep  of  an  outward-bound 
wave.  With  the  grasp  of  death  he  holds  his  prize,  and 
drags  out  Captain  Tom. 


42  Gap  tain  Tom:  A  Resurrection. 


Lifeless?  Yes.  No;  but  faintly  breathing,  and  sore 
ly  wounded.  Carry  him  up !  And  Burgess,  forgetting 
his  own  exhaustion,  no  longer  remembering  his  bitter 
enmity,  bears  the  limp  body  to  a  sheltered  spot,  strips 
bis  few  rags  to  protect  it  from  the  cold  blast,  binds  up  its 
wounds,  and  cares  for  its  flickering  life. 

When  Captain  Tom  opened  his  eyes  it  was  day.  He 
was  lying  on  the  wreck-strewn  beach,  a  half-dozen  sea- 
drenched  sleepers  near  him,  sole  survivors  of  his  brave 
crew ;  the  second  mate  keeping  silent  watch. 

"Is  this  all,  Mr.  Burgess?"  he  mustered  strength  to 
ask. 

"All,  Sir." 

"I'm  hurt,  I  find.  But  you  might  have  saved  more, 
Sir.  I  hope  you  did  your  duty,"  said  Captain  Tom. 

The  old  devil  had  not  been  washed  out  of  him  yet. 

Burgess  made  no  reply,  for  his  Captain  sank  back,  ex 
hausted,  and  slept. 


Y. 

On  the  15th  of  last  June  the  little  village  church  of 
Dennis  was  crowded,  chiefly  with  women  and  children, 
the  men  being  mostly  off  fishing,  to  witness  the  marriage 
of  Captain  Farley  Burgess  with  Miss  Mehetabel  Crowell. 
The  ceremony  had  been  performed,  the  short  prayer  was 
ended,  and  friends  were  advancing  to  congratulate  the 
newly  married,  when  a  wagon  drove  up  to.  the  door,  and 
Captain  Tom  Baker,  grim,  pale,  and  with  a  huge  scar 
across  his  forehead,  a  memento  of  his  shipwreck,  ad- 


Captain  Tom:  A  Resurrection.  43 


vanced  slowly  and  painfully  up  the  aisle.  Now  Captain 
Tom  had  not  been  seen  at  home  since  the  wreck ;  and 
knowing  his  former  feelings  toward  Mehetabel,  his  pres 
ence  here  was  embarrassing  to  all,  who  easily  conjectured 
that  he  could  come  hither  unbidden  on  no  pleasant  er 
rand. 

And  truly  it  was  no  pleasant  errand  to  him.  Looking 
neither  to  right  nor  left,  he  walked  to  the  altar,  and  there, 
lifting  his  hat,  said : 

"  Good  friends,  when  a  man  has  publicly  done  wrong, 
been  mean  and  cowardly  and  devilish,  it  is  right  that  he 
should  publicly  confess  his  sins  and  ask  forgiveness ;  and 
I  for  one  find  he'll  get  no  peace  otherwise.  Here's  my 
shipmate,  Farley  Burgess,  to  whom  I  have  done  every 
mean  spite  that  I  could  work  out,  and  who  repaid  all  by 
saving  my  life — whom  I  abused  after  he  had  saved  me 
and  cared  for  me — and  who  never  gave  me  a  word  of  re 
proach.  I've  come  to  ask  you  •Burgess,  to  forgive  me  if 
you  can,  and  to  make  me  feel  like  an  honest  man  once 
more,  by  giving  me  your  hand  in  token  that  you  forgive 
and  forget.  God  knows,  I  see  the  meanness  of  my  life, 
and—" 

More  he  would  have  said,  the  stern  proud  man,  but 
Farley  stepped  forward,  and  grasping  him  by  the  hand, 
led  him  to  where  Mehetabel  stood,  a  blushing  bride,  then 
said:  "God  bless  you,  Tom  Baker;  I  knew  there  was  a 
man's  heart  in  you ! " 

And  Mehetabel,  lifting  up  her  sweet  tearful  eyes,  said 
only,  " Brother  Tom?" 

But  Brother  Tom  had  lost  his  voice,  and  had  such  a 


44  Captain  Tom:  A  Resurrection. 


choking  feeling  in  his  throat,  that,  pale  and  weak  as  he 
was,  Hetty  had  to  support  him  on  her  arm ;  and,  Bur 
gess  holding  his  other  arm,  they  walked  down  the  broad 
aisle  to  the  little  porch  of  the  church. 

And  there  stood  Uncle  Shubael— just  arrived,  who,  be 
holding  this  trio,  exclaimed : 

"God  bless  my  soul!  Captain  Tom  Baker?  When 
did  you  come  to  life  ?  " 

"  Just  now,  in  the  church,"  was  Tom's  reply,  turning 
to  Farley  and  his  bride. 


WHAT  IS   BEST? 


WHAT  IS  BEST? 


I. — WHICH  IS  PRELIMINARY. 

T  HOPE  every  body  who  sets  out  to  read  this  story  is 
familiar  with  the  little  child's  game  called  "  Simon." 
There  is  a  kind  of  philosophy  in  all  games,  as  there  is 
in  every  thing  else,  if  we  could  but  see  it;  and  this 
in  particular  has  struck  me  as  a  comical  parody  on 
that  more  mature  game  of  "  Follow  my  leader,"  which 
all  the  world  delights  to  play  at,  whether  the  leader  be 
Napoleon,  or  Mr.  Genio  C.  Scott  who  does  the  fashion- 
plates  with  so  admirable  a  grace. 

But  I  do  not  mean  to  drag  the  game  of  Simon  in 
here  on  account  of  any  philosophical  principles  which  a 
crotchety  man  might  pick  out  of  it,  as  Jerseymen  pick 
pearls  from  decayed  clams.  The  less  as,  like  some  stu 
pid  Jerseymen,  I  should  most  likely  cook  my  clam,  and 
thus  spoil  my  pearl.  "  Simon"  comes  appositely  to  me, 
because  the  man  of  whom  I  am  about  to  write  some 
times  seemed  to  me  the  veritable  "old  original"  Simon 
— the  ideal  Simon,  of  whom  all  other  five-year-old  Si 
mons  are  but  the  faint  reflex ;  and  because  in  this  per- 


48  What  Is  Best? 


son's  career  I  seem  to  detect  certain  progressive  phases 
which  are  like  nothing  so  much  as  the  consecutive  de 
velopment  of  a  well-played  game  of  "  Simon." 

It  is  as  well  to  say  here,  at  the  beginning,  that  the 
hero  of  this  story  is  what  we  call  in  America  a  "liter 
ary  man." 

I  have  noticed  that  the  American  public  is  very  fond 
of  gossip  about  the  private  lives  of  great  write]  s.  When 
the  beloved  Irving  died,  there  was  scarce  one  of  us  poor 
devils  but  remembered  or  invented  some  pleasant  little 
anecdote  illustrative  of  his  genial  character;  and  even 
his  family  physician  entered  the  lists  with  a  pathetic  and 
pathologic  description  of  the  disease  to  which  the  dear 
old  gentleman  succumbed ;  as  though  Providence  had 
provided  a  special  and  entirely  novel  extinguisher  to  put 
out  th.e  lamp  of  so  great  a  genius,  leaving  the  vulgar 
rush-lights  of  us  common  scribblers  to  be  snuffed  out  in 
the  usual  way — with  the  fingers,-  so  to  speak.  Now,  it 
is  of  no  use  to  kick  against  the  pricks ;  and  as  it  is  so 
evidently  the  highest  duty  and  business  of  a  writer  to 
please  his  public,  I  have  determined  to  communicate 
here  some  passages,  hitherto  unnoted,  in  the  life  of  the 
only  distinguished  writer  whose  history  it  has  been  my 
good  fortune  to  know. 

I  met  him  first  one  evening  at  a  party  given  by 
my  good  friend,  Mr.  Brown,  in  the  Fifth  Avenue  (New 
York).  I  was  listening  to  some  of  the  brilliant  sallies 
of  the  celebrated  editor,  and  part  proprietor,  of  the  New 
York  Daily  Golden  Egg,  when  he  suddenly  ceased  speak 
ing,  and  looking  over  my  right  shoulder  towards  a  mid- 


What  Is  £est?  49 


die-aged,  compactly  -  built,  comfortable  -  looking  man, 
said — 

"Do  you  know  who  that  is?" 

"That?"  said  I;  "no." 

"  That,"  said  he,  "  is  one  of  the  great  editorial  lights 
of  this  country,  and  a  most  successful  writer.  It  is  the 
celebrated  MacGurdigan." 

"  Is  it  possible ! "  I  exclaimed.  "  Do  I  see  before  me  " 
— I  had  turned  about,  and  was  now  facing  the  renowned 
personage — "do  I  see  before  me  the  great  Stoffle  Mac 
Gurdigan?" 

Then,  seized  with  an  irresistible  desire  to  know  inti 
mately  one  of  the  most  remarkable  men  our  country  has 
produced,  I  said,  catching  the  hand  of  my  friend  the 
editor — 

"  My  dear  Goose,  do  me  a  great  favor :  introduce  me 
to  a  man  whom  I  have  so  long  and  so  greatly  admired." 

Goose,  who  is  as  amiable  socially  as  he  is  valorous  edi 
torially,  at  once  complied  with  my  wish. 

We  were  introduced  to  each  other!  I  shook  the 
hand  which  had  penned  lines  whose  matchless  eloquence, 
stern  patriotism,  and  great  moral  purpose  have,  in  my 
humble  opinion,  never  been  excelled — no,  not  even  by 
the  immortal  Tupper.  The  lustrous  eyes  of  genius  beam 
ed  a  kindly  look  upon  me.  Need  I  add  that  I  was 
happy  ? 

It  is  the  fate  of  greatness  to  be  troubled  by  littleness. 
It  is  a  misfortune  that  at  our  great  parties  undisturbed 
intellectual  conversation,  which  is  so  delightful  between 
friends,  is  almost  impossible.  (Mrs.  Betsey,  my  wife,  re- 

C 


50  What  Is  £est? 


marks  here,  parenthetically,  that  great  parties  are  not 
given  to  promote  precisely  this  object — but  that  is  nei 
ther  here  nor  there.)  I  was  listening  with  rapt  attention 
to  the  words  of  my  distinguished  friend,  hoping  to  catch 
some  sentence  which  I  should  treasure  up  hereafter,  and 
perhaps  publish  at  his  death,  in  a  little  biographical 
sketch,  when  some  intrusive  and  ill-mannered  person 
touched  him  lightly  on  the  arm,  and,  ere  he  could  remon 
strate,  bore  him  off  to  a  distant  part  of  the  room. 

Thus  concluded  my  first  and  only  meeting  with  a  man 
who  is  so  often  admired  among  the  foremost  of  those 
few  who  have  shed  such  a  lustre  upon  our  country's 
journalism. 

And  thus  we  complete  this  preliminary  division  of 
our  history,  and  come,  without  further  delay,  to  the 
story  itself— of  which,  however,  I  must  first  be  permit 
ted  to  say,  that  as  the  revelations  I  am  about  to  make 
are  necessarily  sometimes  unpleasant  to  the  person 
spoken  of — as  are  many  revelations  which  the  intelligent 
public  buys  and  reads  with  the  utmost  avidity — and  as  I 
should  grieve  to  have  the  revered  MacGurdigan  suspect 
me  as  the  cause  of  any  pain  he  may  suffer  in  this  case,  I 
have  requested  the  respectable  editor  of  Harper's  Maga 
zine  to  withhold  my  name  from  those  emissaries  of  the 
goddess  of  Fame  who,  as  I  am  informed,  call  upon  him 
monthly  to  gain  the  knowledge  which  enables  them  to 
praise  or  damn  impartially  each  article  as  it  appears,  and 
without  the  preliminary  trouble  of  leading  it.  For 
though,  as  a  rule,  I  abhor  the  absurd  anonymous  system 
now  in  vogue  in  the  Magazines — whereby  one  man  be- 


What  Is  Best?  51 


comes  as  good  as  another,  and  sometimes  a  great  deal 
better — I  own  that  in  peculiar  cases,  as  this,  it  has  its  con 
venience. 

And  thus  we  come  at  last  to  the  beginning  of  the 
game, 

II.— IN  WHICH  "  SIMON  SAYS  SHOW  YOUR  HANDS." 

STOFFLE  MACGUKDIGAN,  Esquire,  was  born  in  Peoria, 
a  place  which  has  furnished  most  of  our  country's  great 
men.  This  fact  is  not  a  very  important  one ;  but  it  is 
the  duty  of  a  biographer,  not  only  to  be  fully  informed, 
but  also  to  make  evident  this  fullness  to  his  readers; 
and  moreover,  the  Peorians,  among  whom  this  Magazine 
has  a  great  circulation,  will  feel  flattered  by  the  mention 
of  their  cherished  home  in  its  pages. 

It  was  while  he  was  at  college  that  young  Stoffle  gave 
the  first  indications  of  genius.  These  preliminary  sparks* 
were  drawn  out  by  a  young  lady  of  the  place,  whom  the 
boys  used  to  call  a  flame  of  his.  She  was  a  pretty  girl, 
Lucy  Jones  by  name,  who  had  been  predestined  by  her 
parents  to  catch  an  under-graduate ;  and  who  made  the 
best  of  her  fate  by  wounding  and  capturing  that  one 
who  seemed  to  her  the  finest  fellow,  in  the  class  which 
was  the  senior  when  Cupid  lent  her  his  bow  and  arrows. 

There  were  twenty -six  seniors  to  choose  out  of;  and 
she  chose  Stoffle. 

There  were  sixty-nine  marriageable  young  ladies  to 
choose  from  (leaving  out  of  the  account  twenty-five  who 
had  already  made  up  their  minds,  and  one  hundred  and 


52  What  Is  Best? 


thirty-three  who  were  yet  in  short  dresses,  and  flirted 
with  the  juniors,  and  made  faces  at  the  sophomores). 
And  Stoffle  chose  Lucy  Jones. 

Whose  love  was  the  greatest  ? 

Young  men  dream  dreams ;  and  all  the  more  and  all 
the  better  when  they  have  young  women  to  help  them. 
These  two,  you  may  be  sure,  went  into  the  castle-building 
line  very  strongly. 

They  were  poor:  and  surely  there  is  no  such  archi 
tect  as  poverty. 

They  were  deeply  in  love:  and  surely  there  is  no 
such  decorator  as  love. 

They  were  young:  and  surely  there  is  no  such  land 
scape  gardener  as  youth. 

What  splendid  castles  they  did  build  I  What  superb 
views !  What  magnificent  distances !  For  in  Spain, 
you  must  know,  every  castle  is  placed  on  top  of  a  mount- 
*ain;  and  though  the  view  immediately  below  is  some 
what  obstructed  by  a  kind  of  pleasant  Indian-summery 
haze,  if  you  look  far  enough  away  every  thing  at  once 
becomes  clear  and  bright,  and  as  glorious — as  glorious  as 
you  please  to  imagine  it. 

In  the  midst  of  this  castle-building  the  senior  year 
was  drawing  to  a  close,  and  the  question  What  to  do? 
began  to  urge  itself  with  an  irritating  pertinacity  which 
interfered  a  good  deal  with  the  pleasures  of  architecture. 
When  a  young  man  has  the  world  before  him  to  choose 
from,  and  a  pretty  girl's  happiness  depending  on  his 
choice,  it  is  not  so  easy  to  decide  what  is  best.  There 
were  projects — and  projects.  Of  course  Stoffle  was  not 


What  Is  Best  1  53 


going  to  be  a  shoe-maker.  They  do  not  waste  four  years 
in  college  to  fit  themselves  for  shoe-making — I  wish  they 
did.  And  this  being  thus  out  of  the  question,  there  re 
mained  only  the  ministry,  for  which  Stoffle  did  not  feel  a 
particular  "  call ; "  medicine,  which  involved  three  or  four 
years  further  study,  and  an  indefinite  postponement  of 
connubial  bliss ;  and  the  law  :  but  think  of  the  lawyers' 
shingles,  thick  as  clap-boards  in  a  Down-East  village, 
which  disfigure  all  our  business  streets !  And  then — 

"Why  then,  of  course!  why  did  not  we  think  of 
it  before  ?  was  not  StofEe  the  best  writer  in  his  class  ? 
and  was  not  there  literature  ?  " 

To  be  sure — that  was  just  it!  It  is  such  a  comfort, 
just  when  you  have  stumbled  upon  a  dreadful  dilemma 
with  three  horns,  each  of  which  looks  disagreeably  sharp, 
to  come  suddenly  upon  a  fourth  horn  which  is  two- 
pronged,  and  receives  you  in  its  soft  embrace  without 
trouble  or  goring. 

So  there  was  literature,  and  Stoffle  should  be  a  litera 
ry  man.  That  was  settled  at  any  rate.  Then  by  and 
by  he  would  write  essays  and  books,  which  would  give 
him  reputation  ;  and  some  day  he  would  come  back  and 
lecture  before  the  Lyceum  in  the  old  college-town,  and 
would  not  that  be  fame  ?  and  would  not  that  be  happi 
ness  ?  thought  dear  Lucy  Jones ;  who  had  a  very  beau 
tiful  castle  built  in  a  minute,  on  the  very  highest  peak  in 
all  Spain,  and  standing  on  its  roof  looked  all  over  the 
world  at  once,  and  saw  only  everywhere,  covering  the 
sky  above  and  the  trees  below,  large  posters  announcing 
in  red  letters  that  "  Stoffie  MacGurdigan,  Esquire,  the 


54  What  Is  Best! 


celebrated  author  and  popular  lecturer,  would  deliver  the 
opening  lecture  of  the  course  on"  and  so  forth,  and  so 
forth. 

Now  there  is  a  vagueness  about  this  term  "literary 
man,"  which  is  exceedingly  charming  to  almost  every 
body.  "  What  does  so-and-so  do  ?  "  "  Oh,  he  is  a  litera 
ry  man ! "  And  then  you  have  settled  the  matter. 
That  includes  fame,  and  money,  and  friends,  and  in 
fluence,  and  every  other  kind  of  happiness  that  the  very 
robust  imagination  of  full-blooded  youth  can  think  out. 

As  for  bread  and  butter  and  new  shoes  for  the  baby — 
in  Spain,  it  is  well  known,  all  the  forests  are  full  of  bread- 
and-butter  trees ;  and  as  for  baby's  shoes,  why  bless 
your  dear  soul,  you  must  not  look  so  very  far  ahead.  Is 
it  not  known  that  every  book  makes  the  fortune  of  its 
author?  Did  not  Cooper  build  a  town?  Did  not  Mrs. 
Stowe  go  to  Europe  in  state?  And  are  there  not 
"  Homes  of  American  authors,"  dear  cozy  places,  with 
old-time  traditions,  and  ivy,  and  flowers,  and  a  lawn,  and 
a  carriage-house  in  the  distance  ?  And  shall  there  be  no 
more  cottages  on  the  Hudson  ? 

Nevertheless,  if  you  look  into  the  matter  a  little,  you 
will  find  that  Professor  Longfellow  is  a  teacher ;  and  Mr. 
Bryant  is  an  editor ;  and  Mr.  Hawthorne  was  very  glad 
to  exchange  the  "  Old  Manse  "  for  Salem  Custom-House, 
and  that  for  the  Liverpool  Consulate ;  while  I — if  you 
must  know  it,  Madame,  I  am  a  tailor.  A  fashionable 
tailor,  of  course ;  none  of  your  vulgar  snips.  When  you 
go  down  to  Franklin  Square,  the  Editor  of  Harper's  Mag 
azine  will  be  glad  to  hand  you  my  business  card  ;  and  if 


What  Is  £cst?  55 


you  meet  him  going  to  church  on  fine  Sundays,  you  can 
see  one  of  my  most  stylish  coats — and  please  to  call  your 
husband's  attention  to  the  graceful  swing  of  the  tails.  It 
is  a  new  cut,  invented  for  me  by  a  poor  devil  in  my  es 
tablishment,  and  which  I  have  patented. 

So  dear  Stoffle  should  be  a  literary  man.  That  was 
certainly  best ;  and  when  it  was  settled  a  great  weight  of 
responsibility  was  taken  off  Lucy's  mind.  For,  of  course, 
she  felt  responsible  for  Stoffle's  future;  and  this  vexa 
tious  question  of  "What  to  do?"  had  given  her  some 
sleepless  nights.  And  now  it  was  settled  so  nicely ! 

For,  after  all,  lawyers  are  notoriously  selfish  creatures, 
and  often  have  to  make  wrong  right,  and  right  wrong; 
and  physicians  seem  to  grow  callous  to  suffering,  and  be 
sides  never  have  a  real  spare  hour,  and  may  be  called  out 
at  any  time  of  night,  which  is  not  comfortable  to  look 
forward  to.  And  as  for  preaching,  to  be  sure  that  is  to 
be  great  and  good:  but  then  preachers  are  a  little  stiff 
and  all  that;  and  society  forbids  them  to  dance  and  do 
other  pleasant  things  which  society  does  not  deny  itself. 
But  a  "  literary  man !  "  That  was  just  the  thing !  There 
was  leisure,  and  culture,  and  freedom.  And  what  a  no 
ble  field  for  doing  good !  thought  dear  sweet  Lucy  Jones. 

Of  course  the  thing  was  out  of  the  question,  because  I 
was  only  a  beginner  in  business  then,  and  had  but  a  small 
shop  in  a  poor  street,  and  was  not  yet  famous  for  my  cut 
or  for  my  occasional  literary  labors ;  and  Lucy  Jones  and 
her  people  would  have  laughed  in  my  face  had  they  sus 
pected  it:  but  in  those  days,  when  Lucy's  nice  face  went 
past  my  shop  window,  with  a  kind  of  sweet  glory  of 


56  What  Is  Best  ? 


humble  happiness  and  sunny  glad  good-nature  lining  her 
bonnet,  I  used  to  wish  that  I  too  was  a  senior  in  college ; 
and  my  heart  would  go  pitapat,  and  my  needle  would  jag 
my  fingers,  in  spite  of  myself.  I  was  even  ass  enough 
once  to  trust  her  brother  for  a  suit  of  my  best  broadcloth, 
and  lost  my  bill,  as  I  deserved.  Of  course  I  do  not  bear 
malice  toward  Lucy.  But  that  is  neither  here  nor  there, 
as  I  tell  Mrs.  Betsey  when  she  wants  to  interfere  with  the 
shop — as  the  best  of  women  will  sometimes. 

"  What  a  noble  field  for  doing  good ! "  said  Lucy  to  Stof- 
fle,  as  they  talked  over  his  future,  which  was  now  so 
pleasantly  settled.  So  many  wrongs  in  the  world  yet  to 
put  down  with  his  brave  and  eloquent  pen.  So  many 
brave  thoughts,  which  should  strengthen  the  weak  and 
encourage  the  weary  on  the  way  of  life.  So  wide  a  field! 
and  then  she  felt,  away  down  in  her  loving  heart,  a  secret 
fear,  by  no  means  to  be  expressed  lest  it  should  discour 
age  this  puissant  young  knight — a  secret  fear  lest  all  the 
wrongs  should  be  righted  ere  he  could  fairly  buckle  on 
his  armor  and  make  ready  to  charge  with  his  goose-quill, 
lest  the  devil  should  die  before  this,  her  saint,  got  one 
good  blow  at  him. 

A  few  weeks  before  Commencement  they  called  to 
gether  one  evening  at  the  house  of  the  President,  the 
Eeverend  Doctor  Wiseacre;  and  how  Lucy's  heart  beat 
when  the  kind  old  gentleman,  whom  every  young  man 
and  maiden  in  the  town  loved  as  a  father,  said,  "  Well, 
Stoffle,  pretty  soon  now  you'll  leave  us.  Have  you  de 
termined  what  career  to  make  for  yourself,  my  dear 
boy?" 


What  Is  £est?  57 


Stoffle  hesitated  a  little,  as  was  natural;  but  finally 
brought  out  his  determination  to  take  to  literature. 

The  old  gentleman's  face  shone  with  pleasure.  "  That 
is  a  noble  thought,"  said  he.  "  I  wish  more  of  our  young 
men  would  turn  their  attention  to  letters.  Business  is 
very  well,  and  for  the  majority  commerce  or  a  lucrative 
profession  is  best.  But  I  sorrow  to  see  the  best  minds  I 
train  up  go  out  to  seek  gold,  as  though  California  were 
the  nearest  cut  to  heaven,  and  eagles  the  only  birds  to 
carry  men  to  Paradise." 

"And  what  branch  of  letters  or  study  do  you  intend 
to  pursue?"  asked  the  old  Doctor,  presently. 

"  That  is  what  I  would  be  glad  to  have  your  advice 
on,  Sir,"  said  Stoffle,  blushing. 

There  was  a  little  pause,  while  the  Doctor  bent  his 
head  down  and  gently  rubbed  his  eyebrows  with  his  out 
stretched  fingers — his  way  of  exciting  ideality  and  the 
other  intellectual  organs  which  phrenologists  assure  us 
lie  near  those  parts. 

"Well,  my  boy,"  was  the  reply  after  this  little  pause, 
"you  have  your  living  to  make  while  you  build  up  for 
yourself  that  edifice  of  fame  from  whose  summit  you  will 
one  day  look  down  on  us  all.  I  think  I  should,  if  I  were 
in  your  place,  seek  a  connection  with  the  daily  press.  It 
is  not  difficult,  I  believe,  for  an  educated  young  man,  of 
good  moral  character,  and  who  comes  well  recommended 
(as  it  will  be  my  care  to  see  that  you  are),  to  obtain  the 
place  of  reporter  on  a  daily  journal." 

Stoffle  looked  down  in  silence  and  evident  "disappoint 
ment. 

02 


58  What  Is  £est? 


"  A  reporter ! "  exclaimed  Lucy,  who,  though  listening 
to  Mrs.  Wiseacre,  had  not  lost  a  word  of  the  other  con 
versation.  "Oh,  Doctor!  a  reporter!  why,  Stoffle  is 
going  to  be  a  poet !  " 

"All  in  good  time,  my  dear,"  was  the  reply;  "all  in 
good  time.  We  must  not  begin  at  the  top  of  the  ladder, 
you  know ;  else  the  first  step  would  be  the  last,  and  we 
should  lose  all  the  pleasure  and  advantage  of  the  ascent." 

"  But  a  reporter !  "  reiterated  Lucy,  with  a  pretty  pout ; 
"  why,  any  body  can  be  a  reporter !  " 

"  My  dear  child,"  said  the  Doctor,  "  draw  your  stool  up 
here.  There,  sit  down  just  here;  I  want  to  tell  you 
something."  And  looking  kindly  into  the  young  girl's 
upturned  face,  and  smoothing  her  fair  hair,  as  she  sat  at 
his  feet,  the  Eeverend  Doctor  Wiseacre  said : 

"  The  daily  newspaper  of  our  day,  my  dear,  is  the  Iliad 
of  our  age — only  written  up  journal-wise,  and  by  fifty 
Homers  instead  of  one.  Before  you  say  '  only  a  report 
er,'  think  for  a  moment  what  is  the  work  of  which  this 
lowly  worker  is  to  do  his  share.  Consider  the  mighty 
influence  of  this  daily  press— which  has  been  called  the 
Fourth  Estate  in  England,  where  the  London  Times, 
by  its  Jove-like  omnipotence  of  sway,  has  earned  itself 
the  name  of  Thunderer.  Note  how  daily  it  brings  all  the 
affairs  of  all  the  world  before  that  little  world  of  highest 
intelligence  which  shapes  the  destinies  of  a  century.  See 
how  its  private  enterprise  shames  the  tardiness  of  govern 
ment  expresses,  and  corrects  the  blunders  of  official  mis 
management.  Eead  how  daily  it  makes  public  what 
rogues  and  fools  vainly  strive  to  conceal ;  and  giving 


What  Is  Best  ?  59 


honest  news  to  all  the  world,  thereby  prevents  those 
cheating  combinations  and  wicked  monopolies  in  politics 
and  trade  by  which  selfish  men  are  ever  ready  to  war 
against  society  for  their  own  advantage.  See  this  Times, 
or  one  of  our  own  great  dailies,  marching  on  in  its 
course,  steadfast  and  calm,  unmoved  by  the  eager  press 
ure  of  party  interests,  undismayed  by  the  awful  front  of 
sudden  and  unlooked-for  calamities;  and  in  times  of 
trouble,  when  events  seem  to  have  broken  loose,  and  the 
majority  of  men  are  looking  on  with  bewildered  minds, 
incapable  of  right  thought  or  judicious  action,  see  this 
great  guide  and  helmsman  of  the  State  moving  unflinch 
ingly  in  his  course,  never  heeding  the  clamors  of  dema 
gogues  or  the  pulings  of  cowards ;  blown  about  by  no 
stray  winds  of  doctrine ;  holding  ever  his  grand  faith, 
that  a  principle  is  of  more  value  and  of  greater  power 
than  any  multitude  of  interests  :  possessing  his  iron  soul 
in  patience;  willing  to  wait;  believing  in  God  ;  knowing 
that  men  strive  vainly  against  His  laws,  and  that  only  truth 
is  simple,  only  truth  is  useful,  only  truth  can  conquer. 
Let  us  thank  God  that  this  daily  paper  is  indeed  not  only 
the  guide  and  helmsman  of  our  civilization,  but  truly 
its  ruler ;  the  general  who  leads  the  front  of  battle — or, 
better  (for  this  is  but  a  sorry  comparison),  the  architect 
who  guides,  according  to  the  immutable  principles  of  the 
universe,  the  innumerable  army  of  workmen  who  are 
ever  adding  stone  after  stone  to  the  great  temple  of 
our  modern  Christian  Democratic  Civilization. 

"What  are  kings  and  councillors  to  this  Times,  which 
makes  public  their  secrets  before  they  have  themselves 


60  What  Is  Best  ? 


guessed  them?  What  are  Presidents  and  would-be 
Presidents,  eagerly  seeking  to  mislead  the  public  will  to 
their  own  short-sighted  and  perverse  theories — misstating 
facts  and  falsifying  history — to  this  faithful  monitor,  who 
from  his  calm  eminence  speaks  daily  truth  to  waiting 
millions ;  with  his  little  pellet  of  fact  blows  to  the  winds 
the  fine-spun  theories  of  scheming  politicians ;  with  his 
Drummond-light  of  common  sense  clears  the  horizon, 
however  darkened  by  clouds  of  lies?  How  impotent  the 
power  of  the  mightiest  self-seeking  against  this  simple 
engine,  whose  daily  breath  is  that  never-perishing  voice 
of  the  people,  which  is  so  truly  the  voice  of  God  !  What 
Neapolitan  dungeon  of  the  Inquisition  does  not  open  to 
its  talismanic  touch  ?  What  secret  of  tyranny  is  safe 
from  its  searching  gaze?  What  perfidious  treason  can 
gain  head  so  long  as  this  thousand-eyed  watchman  sits 
faithful  at  his  post  ? 

"  The  people  which  possesses  but  one  such  free  press, 
honest,  incorruptible,  and  sensible,  is  safe  against  all  the 
mysteries  of  tyranny  and  all  the  wicked  devices  of  mis 
placed  ambition.  One  such  free  press  may  work  a  Kev- 
olution,  one  such  free  press  may  inspire  a  Eeformation. 
As  indeed,  to  my  mind,  old  Luther  was  himself  the  fa 
ther  of  daily  journalism — the  man  who  first  proved  to  the 
world  the  vast  power  of  an  honest  word,  spoken  in  season 
and  out  of  season,  repeated  to-day,  reiterated  to-morrow, 
spread  everywhere,  educating  every  man,  even  the  low 
est  peasant,  to  think  for  himself.  The  constantly  recur 
ring  numberless  pamphlets  of  Luther  were  the  germ  of 
which  our  daily  paper  is  the  full-grown  fruit;  and 


What  Is  JBest?  61 


Brother  Martin  was  himself  a  model  editor,  scorning  no 
topic,  if  only  it  illustrated  a  truth ;  thinking  no  game  too 
small,  nor  too  large  ;  awed  by  no  threats  of  consequences, 
to  himself  or  to  the  world ;  puzzled  by  no  sophistries ; 
keeping  fast  hold  of  his  torch  of  truth,  brandishing  it  un 
ceasingly  in  the  faces  of  her  opponents,  and  never  swerv 
ing  a  hair's-breadth— in  whatever  hideous  and  devilish 
uproar — from  that  grand  and  simple  faith  in  right,  and 
in  God,  the  father  and  defender  of  right,  which  alone  up 
held  him,  against  Popes  and  Emperors  and  Kings,  and 
all  the  forces  which  Satan  anxiously  brought  forward  to 
put  down  the  terrible  monk ! 

u  Thus  does  the  office  of  editor  seem  to  me,  my  dear, 
the  highest  and  noblest  which  a  man  may  nowadays  as 
pire  to.  He  is  the  wise  and  brave  general  of  an  army 
in  which  the  reporter  is,  to  be  sure,  but  a  humble  pri 
vate — but  remember  that  here,  as  in  Napoleon's  legions, 
every  private  (besides  his  rations  of  frugal  but  sufficient 
bread  and  cheese)  carries  in  his  knapsack  a  marshal's 
staff.  '  Only  a  reporter,'  my  dear  ?  Think  again,  if  it 
is  not  an  office  worthy  and  ennobling  in  itself — even  if 
it  were  not  the  first  step  on  the  way  to  the  potent  edi 
torial  chair;  which  I  am  sure  no  one  will  reach  more 
speedily,  or  fill  more  worthily,  than  our  Stoffle." 

"  Dearie  me,  what  a  lecture,  Doctor !"  exclaimed  Mrs. 
Wiseacre.  "  I'm  sure  I  thought  you  were  scolding  poor 
dear  Lucy.  Don't  mind  him,  my  dear.  I  don't  believe 
you  understood  half  he  said." 

But  Lucy  did  comprehend  and  believe  all  she  had 
just  heard ;  and  with  a  soft  sigh  of  regret  at  the  vanish- 


62  What  Is  Best? 


ing  picture  of  Stoffle  the  poet,  she  turned  with  new 
hopes  to  the  just  rising  image  of  Stoffle  the  editor. 

"I  am  content,  dear  Sir,  if  only  Stoffle  thinks  it  best," 
said  she,  in  her  sweet,  humble  way,  asking  nothing  for 
herself,  but  only  for  her  hero. 

And  he,  now  seeing  for  the  first  time  a  practical  open 
ing  into  that  jealous  oyster,  the  world,  was  no  less  con 
tent  to  be  "only  a  reporter  "—determining  in  his  secret 
heart,  however,  to  give  still  some  spare  hours  to  the  Muse. 

Thus  was  brought  about  Stoffle  MacGrurdigan's  con 
nection  with  the  daily  press,  but  for  which  I  should 
have  lacked  a  hero  for  this  story ;  and  thus  we  come  to 
Part 


III. — IN  WHICH 

I  am  not  sure  but  the  good  old  President  made  himself 
a  little  ridiculous  to  well-informed  readers  (if  I  should 
chance  to  have  such),  when  he  expressed  a  belief  that  ed 
ucated  young  men,  of  good  moral  character,  and  coming 
well  recommended,  were  especially  eligible  to  reporters' 
places  on  the  Daily  Press.  The  fact  is,  in  the  country  a 
New  York  daily  looks  like  a  very  tremendous  affair,  with 
a  very  tremendous  purpose,  and  conducted  with  prodi 
gious  and  never  hesitating  wisdom  in  all  its  branches ;  and 
simple  country  people,  like  the  Eeverend  Doctor  Wise 
acre,  reasoning  with  too  much  literalness  from  apparent 
effects  to  quite  impossible  causes,  easily  persuade  them 
selves  that  the  Daily  Golden  Egg  really  contains  a  healthy 
embryo  chick.  In  which  belief  they  are  confirmed  by 


What  Is  £est?  63 


the  persistent  cackle  of  the  editor,  who,  remembering  that 
the  voices  of  his  family  once  saved  Rome,  magnanimously 
cackles  away,  for  dear  life,  resolved  that  if  Republics  can 
be  saved  by  so  slight  a  means  as  this,  ours  shall  at  least 
last  out  his  life-time. 

To  prevent  disappointment,  and  to  keep  away  from  the 
city  the  armies  of  well-educated  young  men  with  good 
moral  characters,  who  so  greatly  abound  in  the  rural  dis 
tricts,  I  think  it  proper  to  give  notice  that  the  Reverend 
Doctor  Wiseacre  was  misinformed ;  and  that  no  opening 
of  the  kind  promises  itself  to  the  precise  characters  speci 
fied — who  will  find  their  best  opportunities  in  the  whaling 
service,  where  their  work  will  be  healthier  and  a  trifle 
more  dangerous,  but  no  dirtier. 

A  good  character  is  of  very  little  importance  in  the 
city.  And  this  not  because  we  do  not  regard  such  things, 
dear  friends,  but  because  here,  in  the  metropolis,  every 
body — even  the  Mayor — is  eminently  respectable;  and 
there  is  such  an  abundance  of  this  moral  gold  that  it  has 
long  ago  ceased  to  be  a  medium  of  exchange,  and  is  scarce 
thought  now  to  have  even  a  commercial  value.  I  may 
add  that  brass,  which  much  resembles  it,  passes  current 
far  more  readily ;  but  this  is  a  hint  which  will  perhaps 
be  needless  to  the  country  reader. 

Thus  when  Stoffle  came  to  New  York  to  try  his  for 
tune,  it  was  not  his  sheep-skin  certificate  of  scholarship, 
nor  his  very  numerous  vouchers  of  good  moral  character 
which  gained  him  his  first  opportunity,  but  the  discovery 
that  he  was  an  adept  in  the  crooked  mysteries  of  short 
hand,  and  could  follow  a  rapid  speaker  with  tolerable 


64  What  Is  Best? 


accuracy.  And  thus  he  entered  upon  that  strange,  and 
to  most  young  men  very  pleasing  life  of  daily  journal 
ism. 

Pleasing,  because  it  sets  at  defiance  all  the  carefully -in 
stilled  rules  of  commonplace  life ;  because  here  the  young 
man  lives,  so  to  speak,  among  his  antipodes :  sleeps  when 
others  wake,  works  when  others  rest,  plays  when  others 
work ;  because  his  very  labors  have  in  them  all  the  ex 
citement  and  chance  of  a  game ;  because  his  success,  if 
he  is  successful,  is  at  once  declared,  his  failure  quickly 
decided;  because  he  makes  his  own  opportunities,  may 
give  fullest  rein  to  his  enterprise,  and  has  his  ambition 
strung  to  its  highest  by  the  conscious-ness  that  each  day 
will  bring  his  reward  for  the  shrewd  and  faithful  service 
of  yesterday.  Better  even  than  the  sea  is  this  life  to  an 
adventurous  young  man ;  for  here  is  all  the  chance  of  the 
sailor's  life,  ten  times  its  opportunities,  and  none  of  its 
monotony.  He  wakes,  not  knowing  when  or  where  he 
shall  next  sleep.  He  eats  wherever  hunger  may  seize 
him ;  smokes  whenever  the  humor  strikes ;  may  go  any 
where  and  everywhere ;  and  has — last  and  best  of  all  to 
the  fresh  tastes  of  youth — the  delicious  privilege  of  re 
versing  that  stupid  proverb  which  speaks  of  "  early  to 
bed  and  early  to  rise":  for  your  reporter's  maxim  is, 
that  nothing  happens  before  half  past  eleven  A.M.,  and  he 
makes  it  a  point  to  breakfast  in  bed  at  ten. 

To  collect  facts,  in  these  days  of  StomVs  novitiate, 
seemed  to  him  the  very  noblest  and  most  delightful  em 
ployment  for  the  human  soul  and  body.  It  had  all  the 
odd  charm  of  walking  along  the  sea-beach  finding  shells; 


What  Is  JSest?  65 


only  here  was  not  the  tiresome  uniformity  of  the  shore. 
A  reporter  is  a  kind  of  roving  detective  on  the  search  for 
stray  information  ;  a  Bow  Street  officer  in  pursuit  of  run 
away  items;  a  flibustier  diligently  capturing  the  rich 
argosies  of  news  which  fall  in  his  way.  To  gather  facts : 
that  is  the  great  aim  of  his  life.  No  matter  what,  no  mat 
ter  where,  no  matter  how ;  for  to  a  reporter  a  fact  is  a 
fact — and  I  am  sorry  to  say  that  to  some  of  the  craft  a 
fiction,  if  it  only  savor  of  blood  and  thunder,  is  also  a 
fact.  To  him  an  Item  is  the  one  thing  worth  living  for. 
He  looks  on  the  world  only  as  a  vast  manufactory  of 
Items;  on  men  as  the  drudges  who  by  painful  labors 
produce  Items  for  him;  on  the  newspaper  as  the  noble 
repository  of  the  Items  he  collects.  He  regards  events 
only  from  the  historical  point  of  view.  A  murder  is  an 
Item.  A  fire  is  an  Item.  A  war  is  a  vast  and  delicious 
collection  of  Items.  Where  the  accident  is  there  are  the 
reporters ;  an-d  when  his  train  is  smashed  up,  or  his  steam 
boat  bursts  her  boiler,  he  emerges  from  the  ruins  pencil 
in  hand,  and  hails  the  first  passing  wagon  to  bear  an  Item 
to  "the  office." 

It  is  not  strange  that  a  young  man,  fresh  from  a  coun 
try  college,  with  the  constitution  of  a  horse,  the  stomach 
of  a  jackass  (quite  capable  of  digesting  the  toughest  this 
tles  provided  by  dubious  eating-houses),  and  a  healthy 
love  of  adventure  and  variety,  becomes  an  enthusiastic 
and  therefore  an  expert  reporter. 

But  there  is  a  certain  danger  in  this  enthusiasm.  A 
mere  collector  of  facts  is  a  melancholy  object.  For  a  fact 
is  not  only  a  stubborn  thing ;  it  is  a  stupid,  dead,  inani- 


66  What  Is 


mate,  worthless  piece  of  carrion,  which  lies  there,  supine, 
till  some  one  comes  and  breathes  a  soul  of  meaning  into 
it.  Thus  I  might  call  a  reporter  a  resurrectionist,  prowl 
ing  about  for  such  corpse-like  facts ;  and  the  danger  is, 
that  this  enthusiastic  body-snatcher  shall  by  and  by  be 
come  a  mere  gt^ul,  subsisting  contentedly  on  the  dead 
carrion  he  resurrects.  God  does  not  permit  men  (nor 
nations)  to  stand  still ;  and  this  man  whom  I  have  called 
detective,  flibustier,  resurrectionist,  must  either  become 
an  intelligent  being,  appreciating  the  value  and  signifi 
cance  of  his  facts,  and  thus  prepared  to  infuse  into  them 
the  breath  of  life  and  reason,  or  else  he  becomes  a  mere 
vampire,  fattening  on  the  gross  carrion  which  he  daily 
disentombs  from  the  grave  of  events. 

If  we  were  all  sensible  men,  with  abundant  leisure,  we 
might  perhaps  dispense  with  the  editor,  and  ourselves  di 
gest  the  crude  food  of  news  which  makes  up  the  staple 
of  a  daily  paper.  But  life  is  short  and  dollars  are  scarce ; 
and  as  we  necessarily  take  our  facts  at  second-hand  from 
the  reporter,  so  we  are  obliged,  in  most  cases,  to  take  their 
interpretation  at  second-hand  also.  For  you  and  I,  dear 
reader — I,  who  am  puzzling  my  brains  all  day  over  my 
shears  and  my  accounts,  and  you  who  perhaps  have  no 
brains  to  puzzle — have  not  time,  not  to  speak  of  ability, 
to  work  out  the  problem  which  the  news  columns  present 
to  us  every  morning. 

Here  comes  in  the  editor — the  interpreter. 

The  reporter  may  be  a  Gradgrind,  but  the  editor  must 
be  a  prophet.  The  reporter  need  only  be  an  intelligent 
machine ;  the  editor  must  be  an  intelligent  man.  In  fact, 


What  Is  Best?  67 


he  ought  to  be  the  most  able  and  the  most  honest  man 
in  the  community.  Perhaps  he  is. 

Who  reads  the  tedious  columns  of  twaddle  headed 
" Proceedings  in  Congress?"  Surely  no  sensible  man 
voluntarily  stupefies  himself  with  such  stuff,  which  is  not 
ordinarily  fit  even  to  put  a  man  pleasantly  to  sleep.  I 
know  it  is  a  great  and  glorious  piece  of  enterprise  to  give 
three  columns  of  it  every  morning;  but  I  gladly  pay  two 
cents  for  the  Daily  Golden  Egg  because  I  know  that  my 
friend  Goose  will  in  three  lines  give  me  a  full  and  correct 
summary  of  the  three  columns,  while  in  a  quarter  of  an 
hour  I  can  know,  from  his  editorial  report,  what  is  the 
sum  and  sense  of  all  that  has  happened  in  the  world  for 
the  last  twenty-four  hours,  and  am  thus  able  to  go  to  my 
daily  duties  in  the  shop,  not  only  stuffed  with  news,  but 
bristling  with  opinions. 

This  is  the  use  of  an  editor ;  and  as  Stoffle  is  now  to 
be  advanced  to  this  important  post  of  manufacturer  of 
opinions,  of  judge,  in  fact,  of  "what  is  best,"  we  come 
naturally  to  the  fourth  division  of  this  biography : 

IV. — IN"  WHICH  "  SIMON  SAYS  WIGGLE-WAGGLE." 

Before  a  man  can  manufacture  opinions  he  should  have 
a  few  of  his  own;  just  as  when  my  wife  wants  her  hens 
to  lay,  she  carefully  supplies  a  few  nest  eggs  of  finest  white 
chalk.  Now  whatever  our  young  men  get  at  college,  they 
seldom  get  opinions.  It  might  be  thought  that  institu 
tions  for  the  training  of  youth  would  naturally  communi 
cate  something  of  this  kind;  but  opinions,  unfortunately, 


68  What  Is  Bestl 


are  thought  mischievous,  and  "  eminently  to  be  avoided ; " 
and  by  the  time  a  man  gets  thoroughly  imbued  with  the 
great  truth  that  twice  two  makes  four,  he  is  commonly 
turned  out  on  the  world,  labelled  "  graduate."  You  get 
(and  forget)  Latin,  and  Greek,  and  mathematics ;  and  when 
you  are  done  with  that  you  get  a  sheep-skin ;  and  being 
thrust  out  into  the  world,  find  that  the  only  really  useful 
part  of  your  training  is  some  such  stray  accomplishment 
as  short-hand,  which  you  have  trifled  with  in  your  uncer 
tain  hours  of  ease. 

Stoffle  was  for  some  three  years  an  enthusiastic  col 
lector  of  facts  before  he  had  a  passable  knowledge  of 
their  value.  But  when  this  came  about  he  found  him 
self  one  day  disgusted  with  his  profession. 

Most  men  take  to  letters  from  a  desire  to  make  a  figure 
in  the  world ;  and  though  the  result  is,  in  the  majority 
of  cases,  only  a  conspicuous  0,  out  of  every  thousand 
who  use  the  pen  one  or  two  also  use  their  brains; 
and  of  these  a  few  become  able  editors.  Now  when* 
Stoffle's  enthusiasm  began  to  cool  off,  when  the  Item 
was  beheld  in  its  natural  state,  and  ceased  to  be  in 
apotheosis,  he  began  to  fear  that  his  figure  also  was 
to  be  a  small  one ;  and  therefore  to  bestir  himself  with 
a  healthful  discontent.  Three  years  pass  very  quickly, 
especially  to  a  man  who  works  hard  and  likes  his  work. 
But  at  twenty-five  the  world  looks  differently  than  at 
twenty-two ;  and  at  twenty -five  Stoffle,  who  had  come  to 
town  a  simple-hearted  country  youth,  with  no  particular 
hopes,  except  for  a  speedy  wedding  and  a  plain  cottage 
in  the  country,  beheld  himself  a  man  with  a  career  before 


What  Is  jBest?  69 


him,  a  man  with  possibilities.  Now  a  dinner  of  herbs, 
with  love,  is  very  good ;  but  a  stalled  ox  has  its  tempta 
tions  also,  to  people  who  are  not  confirmed  vegetarians. 
And  in  that  middle  passage  in  life,  when  young  men  are 
vibrating  between  love  and  ambition,  it  occurs,  not  un 
reasonably,  to  many  a  one,  why  not  "  better  a  stalled  ox 
with  love  ?  " 

Or  if  not  both,  then  which  ? 

As  Stoffle,  now  rid  of  reporter's  cares,  and  writing 
himself  Editor,  began  to  see  more  and  more  of  those 
splendid  possibilities  which  men  call  a  career,  I  am  sorry 
to  say  the  fervor  of  his  affection  for  poor  Lucy  Jones  de 
clined.  At  first  it  was  of  course  impossible  to  marry ; 
and  by  the  time  it  became  'barely  possible,  it  was  also  be 
come  barely  possible  to  Stoffle  to  put  it  off.  As  his  life 
grew  larger,  and  its  scope  broader,  the  passion  which  had 
absorbed  him  while  at  college,  and  which,  like  most  other 
young  men,  he  had  regarded  not  only  as  the  noblest,  but 
as  the  only  noble  one,  began  to  be  overshadowed  by  oth 
ers.  Love  and  ambition  are  to  each  other  as  heat  and 
cold. 

When  Stoffle's  fairly  roused  ambition  had  once  clearly 
opened  his  eyes,  he  saw  that  the  world  is  only  a  foolish 
world,  anxious  to  be  ruled ;  and  that  it  requires  no  vast 
wisdom  or  goodness  to  rule  it,  but  only  a  certain  strength 
of  will,  a  certain  thickness  of  skin,  a  certain  readiness  of 
speech.  For  this  foolish  world,  like  children  frightened 
in  the  dark,  insists  on  being  talked  to,  and  is  greatly  more 
particular  about  the  sound  than  the  sense.  It  is  not  ab 
solutely  necessary  that  you  see  the  road,  to  guide  your 


70  What  Is  Best  ? 


fellows,  if  only  you  boldly  say  that  you  see  it ;  and  if 
you  want  to  be  a  very  great  statesman  or  a  very  able  ed 
itor,  your  most  useful  quality  may  be  the  unscrupulous 
shrewdness  of  a  special  pleader.  ISTow  when  Stoffle  per 
ceived  all  the  splendid  possibilities  in  the  life  of  a  man 
who  has  gained  such  an  insight  as  this  at  twenty-five,  I 
do  not  wonder  that  the  stalled  ox  quite  concealed  from 
his  view  that  dinner  of  herbs  which  is  the  ideal  of  under 
graduate  philosophers. 

Meantime  Lucy,  who  had  unluckily  no  career  open  to 
her,  sat  at  home,  like  a  good,  affectionate  creature,  glory 
ing  in  the  success  of  her  lover,  and  prizing  him  the  more 
highly  as  she  became  aware  that  he  was  like  to  prove 
himself  a  man  among  men.  She,  too,  was  content  to 
wait,  almost  as  content  as  Stoffle ;  for  she,  too,  had  her 
ambition,  what  right-minded  woman  has  not  ?  Only  a 
woman's  ambition  contains  in  solution  so  very  little  of 
the  acid  of  selfishness  that  it  does  not  corrode  her  love. 

The  difference  between  reporter  and  editor  is  quite  as 
great  as  that  between  a  pickpocket  and  a  highwayman, 
or  between  a  resurrectionist  and  a  professor  of  anatomy. 
The  reporter  is  a  Bohemian,  a  lounger,  a.  rough  stick ; 
tolerated  but  not  recognized  by  society ;  admitted  official 
ly  to  write  the  bulletins  of  fashion,  but  ignored  person 
ally,  or  at  best  consigned  to  the  doubtful  company  of  the 
awkward  squad.  But  the  editor  is  a  man  of  social  and 
political  standing.  Lord  Palmerston  says  he  is  glad  to 
invite  him  to  his  house — not  as  editor,  but  as  gentle 
man — the  dear,  blarneying  old  joker!  and  the  Fifth 
Avenue,  and  every  other  avenue  (if  there  are  any  oth- 


What  fs  Best?  71 


ers),  is  open  to  him,  with  us.  With  such  a  new  life  nec 
essarily  come  in  new  wants,  new  hopes,  new  desires, 
new  aims.  A  caterpillar  feeds  contentedly  on  its  cab 
bage-leaf,  happy  if  it  has  secured  the  sunny  side  of  its 
limited  world.  But  a  butterfly !  Think  of  a  Promethe 
us  glued  to  a  cabbage-leaf! 

It  is  not  wonderful,  then,  that  in  this  new  sphere  to 
which  Stoffle  was  now  translated  he  should  desire  to 
shape  his  life  according  to  the  new  lights  in  which  he 
walked ;  and  that,  among  other  changes,  the  thought  of 
poor  country -bred  Lucy  became  presently  somewhat  dis 
tasteful  to  this  enlightened  young  fellow.  Why  should 
a  man  marry?  Was  it  necessary?  Was  it  best?  Es 
pecially  a  young  man  with  a  career  opening  to  him? 
Not  only  this,  but  how  would  the  world,  his  new  world, 
look  upon  this  country  girl?  How  fatally  ill-matched 
would  this  rising  young  man  of  society  be  with  a  girl 
who  probably  could  not  cross  a  floor!  This  already- 
admired  wit,  with  a  wife  who  had  no  more  conception 
of  a  sarcasm  than  a  post !  What  would  his  friends  say  ? 
Should  he  throw  his  best  chances  away  ?  Single-hand 
ed,  he  felt  it  in  him  to  conquer  this,  his  new  world. 
Should  he  clog  his  arms  and  disable  himself  for  a  con 
test  in  which  his  whole  soul  was  enlisted  ? 

Oh  weary  questions,  which  men  ask  themselves  when 
they  have  already  decided!  Oh  foolish  words,  with 
which  men  seek  to  hide  what  they  dare  not  face ! 

And  yet,  plead  as  you  may,  face  it  you  must.  And 
after  all  it  is  a  question  not  so  easy  to  decide — this  one. 
What  shall  a  man  do,  finding  himself  so  placed,  bound 


72  What  Is  Best? 


with  such  bonds,  and  hoping  such  hopes?  Men  grow; 
hopes,  fears,  and  loves  do  change.  As  we  advance  the 
horizon  widens,  and  that  which  but  yesterday  we  thought 
the  utmost  boundary  and  very  gate  of  heaven,  seems  now 
but  a  poor  fleeting  cloud ;  and  beyond  another  heaven 
opens  to  our  longing  eyes. 

And  the  cloud  ? 

If  you  are  a  determined  man,  like  Stoffle,  you  sail 
through  it,  looking  neither  to  right  nor  left,  but  only 
straight  forward. 

It  was  wisely  written  that  once  in  every  man's  life  he 
is  taken  into  a  high  mountain,  and  there  tempted.  It 
was  not  altogether  inexcusable  in  Stoffle,  perhaps,  if  on 
this  occasion  he  mistook  his  conscience  to  be  the  Devil, 
and  looking  the  awful  shape  resolutely  in  the  face,  wrote 
to  Miss  Jones  that  "  he  could  not  reconcile  it  to  his 
sense  of  right  to  marry  without  love  ;  and  therefore  felt 
it  a  duty,  no  less  to  her  than  to  himself,  to  own  that  his 
feelings  toward  her  had  for  some  time  undergone  a  seri 
ous  change.  While  the  esteem  he  had  for  her  character 
and  her  virtues  was  in  nowise  diminished,  he  was  con 
strained  to  confess  that  his  affections  were  no  longer  en 
listed.  He  found  himself  so  entirely  swallowed  up  in  his 
business  life,  and  so  constrained  by  its  necessities,  that  in 
voluntarily  he  had  ceased  to  look  forward  to  marriage 
with  that  happy  anticipation  and  content  which,  in  his 
opinion,  every  one  should  bring  to  this,  the  most  impor 
tant  step  in  life.  In  fact,  it  seemed  to  him  that  men  of 
his  profession  should,  if  possible,  avoid  marriage.  In 
such  a  case  he  felt  it  would  be  doing  Miss  Jones  the  sad- 


What  Is  Best?  73 


dest  wrong  to  ask  her  to  become  his  wife ;  and  though 
he  felt  bound  to  her  by  his  plighted  word,  and  held  him 
self  in  readiness  to  fulfill  that  word,  yet  a  desire  for  her 
happiness,  much  more  than  his  own,  convinced  him  of 
the  propriety  of  dissolving  those  promises  to  the  fulfill 
ment  of  which  he  had  once  looked  forward  with  such 
true  pleasure.  If  Miss  Jones  should  agree  with  his 
views  he  begged  that  she  would  signify  it  by  returning 
him  his  letters ;  and  he  remained  ever  her  most  obedient 
servant." 

And  receiving  his  letters  by  return  of  mail,  with  only 
"  Good-bye"  written  on  the  little  slip  of  white  paper 
which  wrapped  them,  Stoffle,  feeling  less  elated  than  he 
had  anticipated,  shook  himself,  and  was  free. 

Perhaps  the  angry  reader  will  say  he  was  a  rascal.  I 
do  not  intend  to  argue  the  point,  though  I  have  heard  a 
good  deal  said  on  both  sides.  It  is  one  of  those  disputed 
questions  in  which  it  is  not  easy  to  decide  what  is  best, 
and  which  therefore  no  prudent  story  writer  ought  to 
discuss. 

Nevertheless,  have  patience,  O  angry  reader !  Do  not 
judge  too  harshly:  it  is  not  given  to  every  man  to  be 
lieve  in  God. 

And  then,  consider:  is  it  exactly  fair  for  the  young 
ladies  of  a  college  town  to  take  snap-judgment  on  the 
susceptible  hearts  of  the  collegians  ?  What  right  have 
they  to  let  themselves  be  courted  and  won  by  men  who 
only  think  love  the  best  thing  because  they  have  as  yet 
no  knowledge  of  any  thing  but  love  and  Latin,  between 
which  'tis  easy  enough  to  choose ;  who  are  ambitious  to 

I) 


74  What  Is  £est? 


win  love,  because  they  know  of  nothing  else  they  can 
win  ?  How  evidently  unfair  to  take  advantage  of  these 
inexperienced  youth ! 

And  again :  The  desire  of  reward  is  one  of  the  noblest 
and  most  useful  of  human  instincts.  "  What  shall  we 
do  to  be  saved  ?  "  is  the  question  of  most  import  in  the 
world ;  and  even  here  the  thought  of  reward  vastly 
overshadows  and  almost  annihilates  any  consideration  of 
pleasure  in  the  service.  The  laborer  is  worthy  of  his 
hire;  and  when  a  man,  be  he  editor  or  stone-breaker, 
does  a  fair  day's  work,  it  is  because  he  wants  a  fair  day's 
wages;  To  be  sure,  the  old  Divines  insisted  that  we 
should  "  cultivate  a  willingness  to  be  damned."  But  the 
world  has  changed  since  then ;  and  even  the  good  Sa 
maritan  nowadays  has  a  price  for  his  oil,  and  slips  his 
business  card  into  the  vest-pocket  of  the  wounded  travel 
ler.  Callow  youth  prates  loudly  of  "disinterestedness" 
in  public  men  ;  but  I  dare  say  his  Excellency  the  Presi 
dent  could  tell  another  story ;  and,  indeed,  when  you 
look  into  the  Decalogue,  surely  the  most  charming  com 
mandments  are  those  "  with  promise."  If  you  say  this 
is  wrong,  you  make  a  serious  blunder,  for  even  God 
holds  out  everywhere  a  hope  of  reward,  as  where  it  is 
written  "  Honor  thy  father  and  mother,  that  thy  days  may 
be  long  in  the  land."  To  be  sure  he  did  not  add,  be  an 
able  editor  or  ardent  politician  that  thy  fame  may  fill  the 
land,  and  thy  pockets  empty  the  treasury.  But  yet,  the 
greater  the  wages  the  better  the  service ;  and  when  you 
call  a  man  rascal,  because  he  hesitates  to  give  up  the 
only  wages  he  values,  and  tie  down  his  life  to  a  narrow 


What  Is  £est?  75 


round  of  virtuous  but  prosaic  duties,  it  only  shows  that 
you  have  not  yourself  had  the  option.  It  is  only  smart 
fishermen  who  are  tempted  to  fish  on  Sundays.  Your 
blockhead,  who  catches  no  fish  at  any  time,  does  not 
grudge  the  tedious  day  which  sees  his  craft  anchored  in 
Sabbath  rest. 

The  question  which  presented  itself  to  Stoffle  in  this 
crisis  of  his  life,  was  whether,  for  a  mere  point  of  honor, 
he  should  spoil  his  career.  Floating  on  that  "tide, 
which  taken  at  the  flood  leads  on  to  fortune,"  whether 
he  should  run  into  an  obscure  wayside  bay  and  perma 
nently  beach  his  vessel.  Peering  into  that  future,  which 
has  such  a  glorious  brightness  at  twenty -five,  Stoffle  saw 
— or  thought  he  saw — himself  standing  at  the  junction 
of  two  roads,  one  leading  to  marriage,  obscurity,  and  a 
life-long  struggle  for  bread  and  butter ;  the  other  lead 
ing  to  fame,  power,  position,  and  wealth.  On  one  side 
was  only  a  weary,  never-ceasing  strife  between  duty  and 
inclination,  in  which  duty  must  ever  have  the  upper 
hand ;  on  the  other,  the  best  opportunity  for  the  fullest 
development  of  his  intellectual  powers,  and  an  adequate 
reward  for  labors  which  were  a  delight  in  themselves. 

What  is  best  in  such  a  case  as  this  every  man  must 
decide  for  himself.  Being  the  man  he  was,  Stoffle  decided 
that  a  scruple  should  not  stand  between  him  and  his 
brightest  future.  Let  him  that  is  without  sin  cast  the 
first  stone. 

It  is  not  given  to  every  man  to  believe  in  God.  It  is 
not  in  vain  that  so  many  commandments  are  with  prom 
ise  ;  and  perhaps  he  is  wisest  who  takes  Grod  at  his  word. 


76  What  Is  JBest? 


There  is  a  divinely -instituted  "  division  of  labor"  which 
far-sighted  people  are  apt  to  overlook.  "  Paul  may 
plant,  and  Apollos  water,  but  God  giveth  the  increase." 

Now  Stoffle  intended  to  fulfill  all  these  offices  him 
self. 

A  man's  career  is  like  a  ship  under  full  sail :  the  wind 
drives  her  unceasingly,  and  it  remains  only  for  the 
helmsman  to  elect  his  course  and  trim  his  sails.  When 
once  Stoffle  saw  himself  clear  of  that  lee-shore  on  which 
he  had  feared  to  strand  his  dearest  hopes,  and  with  fair 
winds  sailing  on  the  broad  sea  of  editorial  life,  he  did  not 
fail  to  carry  on  sail.  He  was  willing  to  "pay  labor"  for 
power,  as  Dr.  Johnson  says  of  Sir  Thomas  Browne.  Day 
and  night  he  toiled  to  fit  himself  more  and  more  for  that 
position  of  able  editor  which  seemed  to  him,  as  it  seem 
ed  to  the  Keverend  Doctor  "Wiseacre,  the  very  highest 
to  which  a  man  might  in  these  days  aspire.  An  editor 
should  be  the  most  intelligent  man  in  the  community — 
and  he  would  be  that.  And  the  most  honest?  "Well, 
yes :  but  what  is  honesty  ?  You  say  what  you  believe ; 
but  suppose  you  do  not  believe  in  any  thing  ?  The  able 
editor  should  be  the  chiefest  statesman  of  the  State.  But 
even  statesmen  are  mortal ;  and  when  the  question  has 
once  occurred  to  a  mortal  man,  whether  it  is  best  to  do 
right,  something  depends  on  the  answer  he  gives  it.  One 
thing  is  certain — this  question  must  be  categorically  an 
swered.  Simon  may  say  wiggle-waggle,  but  Fate  says,  in 
her  sternest  tones,  "Yes  or  no,  and  stick  to  it."  Now,  when 
this  able  editor  had  said  "No"  to  poor  Lucy,  whom  lie 
regarded  just  then  as  the  inscrutable  Fate,  there  was  no 


What  Is  Best?  77 


return.  He  had  burned  his  ships,  and  henceforth  his 
course  was  onward. 

It  is  a  question  which  embarrasses  men  more  the 
higher  they  stand,  this  one  whether  it  is  best  to  do  right. 
I  am  quite  sure  that  honesty  is  the  best  policy  for  my 
porter  and  clerks.  But  for  myself?  Think  of  a  tailor 
without  cabbage !  And  a  fashionable  tailor  too,  that 
unfortunate  who  has  to  lose  many  a  heavy  bill  to  gain 
the  countenance  of  the  fine  world ;  and  who  must  some 
how  make  it  up,  you  know :  for  even  a  tailor  must  live, 
and  if  he  is  given  to  scribbling,  as  I  am,  so  much  the 
worse  the  chance. 

Stoffle  was  no  fool.;  but  a  man  of  large  intellect,  of 
broad  views,  and  growing  culture.  What  knowledge 
bore  on  his  part  in  life  he  diligently  acquired.  History, 
politics,  finance,  geography,  commerce,  were  things  so 
faithfully  studied  that  no  event  could  turn  tip  but  he 
had  a  precedent  at  his  pen's  point;  no  strange  compli 
cation  but  he  found  its  solution  in  a  stranger  of  other 
days. 

But  of  what  avail  all  history,  all  knowledge,  if  it  yet  re 
mains  an  open  question,  "  What  is  best?"  The  life  of 
an  able  editor  is  surely  the  greatest  that  is  lived  in  these 
days.  Queens,  Emperors  and  Presidents  affect  the  desti 
nies  of  nations;  but  this  editor  has  his  voice  in  every 
struggle  that  goes  on  in  the  world,  and  sets  his  pen  to 
every  question  that  agitates  our  planet.  And  must  he, 
too,  ask  "What  is  best?"  And  vainly  ask?  That 
question  which  his  traditional  million  of  readers  put  to 
him  every  morning  over  their  coffee,  how  has  he  strug- 


78  What  Is  Best? 


gled  with  it  by  gas-light  in  his  dingy  editorial  box  ten 
hours  ago ! 

Of  course  the  right  is  best,  the  simple-hearted  Doctor 
Wiseacre  would  say.  But  the  one  lesson  which  Stoffle's 
life  had  hitherto  taught  him,  was  that  in  certain  cases  the 
right  is  not  best. 

And  what  then  ?  Why,  then  comes  in  statesmanship. 
Given,  that  there  is  no  God,  given,  that  this  "right"  is 
an  orphan  going  about  the  world  tolerably  helpless,  and 
then  you  have  a  logical  necessity  for  Statesmen,  Diplo 
matists,  Napoleons,  and  Editors. 

And  every  body  knows  that  the  right  is  not  always 
best. 

Whereby  men  have  gained  to  themselves  immortal 
fame  as  skillful  tinkers,  and  being  lucky,  have  died  on 
some  such  lonely  shelf  as  St.  Helena,  muttering  queru 
lous  complaints  about  Grouchy,  who  did  not  come  up  in 
time. 

As  though  Grouchy  ever  came  up  in  time. 

It  is  a  secret  which  shrewd  men  soon  learn  in  our  me 
tropolis,  that  the  difference  between  prosperity  and  pov 
erty  is  just  the  difference  between  employing  and  being 
employed.  There  came  a  day  when  Stoffle,  being  now 
an  able  editor,  might  exchange  his  liberal  but  stated  sal 
ary,  and  become  proprietor  as  well  as  editor.  But  to  do 
this  money  was  necessary ;  and  for  the  present  he  had 
some  fame,  but  little  money.  In  this  crisis  of  his  affairs, 
when,  for  a  second  time,  there  appeared  a  serious  obsta 
cle  in  the  way  to  his  advancement  on  that  career  he  had 


What  Is  Best?  79 


chosen  for  himself,  there  came  to  his  aid  one  of  the  best 
and  most  ingenious  inventions  of  a  commercial  age. 
Some  enthusiastic  writers  have  labored  to  prove  that 
women  rule  in  every  society ;  but  I  aver  on  the  contra 
ry  that  they  have  been  the  sport  of  every  stage  of  human 
progress,  from  barbarism  to  civilization.  In  Africa  you 
buy  your  wife ;  in  Middle-aged  Europe  you  had  to  fight 
for  her,  whereby  the  number  of  bachelors  was  greatly 
increased ;  and  now  Stoffle  bartered  his  reputation  and 
social  position  for  a  certain  fortune,  and  was  lucky 
enough  to  get  into  the  bargain  a  very  pretty  wife,  whom, 
if  the  exigencies  of  his  career  had  permitted  it,  he  might 
in  a  short  time  have  grown  to  love  sincerely  and  per 
haps  devotedly. 

And  Stoffle  being  thus  fortunately  married,  which 
every  one  must  acknowledge  to  be  the  best  thing  he 
could  do  under  the  circumstances,  we  come  to  another 
part  of  this  history : 

v. — IN  WHICH  "SIMON  SAYS  DOWN." 

When  a  man  has  written  about  Europe  and  its  affairs 
for  some  years,  it  is  surely  best  that  he  should  see  with 
his  own  eyes  some  of  the  people  and  countries  he  has  so 
long  exercised  his  pen  about.  It  might  be  best,  even,  to 
see  Europe  before  you  begin  to  write  about  it ;  but  the 
best  thing  is  not  always  practicable,  as  every  body 
knows;  and  one  thing  is  certain,  that  if  Stoffle  had 
foolishly  kept  his  faith  with  Lucy  he  might  have  de 
luded  a  credulous  public  with  opinions  about  European 


8o  What  Is  Best? 


affairs  for  a  quarter  of  a  century,  and  even  then  not  seen 
with  his  eyes  the  nations  he  had  judged.  Thus  it  ap 
pears  that  Lucy  was  in  reality  sacrificed  for  the  public 
benefit,  which,  if  duly  explained  to  her,  would  doubtless 
have  greatly  assuaged  her  grief. 

But  Lucy  was  a  sensible  girl,  who  did  not  need  this 
satisfaction  to  dry  up  her  tears.  I  am  afraid  the  angry 
reader  will  be  angrier  still  when  I  tell  him  that  while 
Stoffle  MacGurdigan,  Esquire,  was  travelling  over  Eu 
rope,  getting  new  and  improved  views  of  what  is  best, 
Lucy  was  being  courted  by  a  worthy  professor  of  the 
college  whence  her  former  lover  had  set  out  on  his  ca 
reer  ;  and  when  Stoffle  and  his  bride  were  on  their  home 
ward  passage  Lucy  became  the  happy  and  honored  wife 
.of  Professor  "White.  It  is  a  disagreeable  thing  to  men 
tion,  and  calculated  to  destroy  all  one's  preconceived  and 
beautiful  ideas  of  female  fidelity  and  the  power  of  true 
love,  and  all  that,  this  marriage  of  Lucy's ;  but  it  is  a 
fact  which  could  not  well  be  concealed  by  a  faithful  his 
torian  ;  and  after  all,  I  have  known  a  number  of  other 
young" ladies  do  just  as  Lucy  did,  and  with,  I  must  own, 
the  happiest  consequences.  Men,  of  course,  never  do 
so;  and  if  Mrs.  Betsey  had  jilted  me,  a  very  unlikely 
thing,  as  I  was  thought  a  good  match  even  before  I 
knew  her,  I  am  sure  I  should  have  been  a  happy  bach 
elor  to  this  day.  But  that  is  neither  here  nor  there. 

Stoffle  came  home  from  Europe,  as  most  of  us  do, 
with  a  batch  of  new  and  improved  ideas  of  what  is 
best.  It  is  a  curious  fact  that  the  only  Americans  who 
are  troubled  with  serious  doubts  about  the  success  of  our 


What  Is  £est?  81 


great  and  glorious  experiment  of  a  government,  are  those 
who  have  "run  through"  Europe.  These  experienced 
men  of  the  world,  who  set  out  on  their  travels  with  a 
large  spread-eagle  next  to  their  hearts,  almost  invariably 
return  with  a  poor  opinion  of  Democratic  Institutions, 
and  tell  you,  confidentially,  with  a  French  shrug,  and  a 
countenance  of  dolorous  certainty,  that  "  it's  of  no  use, 
you  know ;  Kepublics  may  last  for  a  generation  or  two — 
but  your  only  steady  wear  is  a  good  monarchy."  And 
if  you  could  see  a  little  further  into  this  Jeremiah's 
thought,  you  would  find  behind  the  good  monarchy  a 
comfortable  aristocracy,  to  divide  among  them  the  large 
slices  of  fat  which  'prosperous  monarchies  abound  in. 

You  must  not  blame  these  drivelers  and  doubters  too 
much.  A  run  through  Europe  is  not  calculated  to 
sharpen  the  intelligence  of  every  man ;  and  really,  to 
men  who  live  in  a  chronic  hurry,  the  speedy  ways  of  an 
Imperial  Dictator  can  not  fail  to  recommend  themselves ; 
while  it  is  difficult  to  imagine  a  more  disheartening  spec 
tacle  to  an  ambitious  man  of  intellect,  who  feels  that  his 
knowledge  ought  to  be  both  power  and  wealth,  than  the 
shabby  Swiss  confederacy,  surrounded  as  it  is  by  such 
splendid  kingdoms  and  empires.  Stoffle  had  an  uneasy 
feeling  that  such  laborers  as  he  were  worthy  of  a  greater 
hire  than  is  provided  for  with  us ;  and  I  admit  freely 
that  to  a  laborer  who  looks  only  to  his  hire  our  greatest 
prizes  even  must  seem  not  only  very  little,  but  very  hard 
to  get  at,  which  is  precisely  what  the  fox,  had  he  been 
honest,  would  have  said  of  the  grapes. 

Stoffle  came  back  from  Europe,  convinced  that  there 
D2 


82  What  Is  Best? 


are  many  animals  in  the  world  more  splendid  to  look 
upon,  more  useful,  and  perhaps  longer  lived,  than  that 
spread-eagle  of  which  he  had  in  his  grass-days  been  a 
somewhat  blind  worshiper.  Until  you  have  seen  a  king 
or  an  emperor,  it  is  not  unnatural  to  think  highly  of  the 
President.  But  when  you  have  once  been  permitted  to 
look  at  the  ways,  and  thoughts,  and  means  of  European 
statesmen,  our  own  politics  look  so  petty,  our  best  men 
seem  so  ridiculously,  what  shall  I  say,  virtuous?  that 
a  man  who  has  the  soul  of  a  statesman  and  whose  mind 
can  comprehend  and  delight  in  the  task  of  keeping  the 
world  balanced,  can  not  help  a  little  regret  that  he  was 
born  to  no  greater  work  than  voting  for,  or  being  voted, 
Member  of  Congress,  and  being  opposed  perhaps  by  a 
hotel  keeper,  or  a  corner  grocery  man.  Did  you  ever 
hear  one  of  these  returned  Americans  utter  the  word 
canaille?  It  is  true,  they  do  not  often  pronounce  it  any 
thing  else  than  canael,  but  the  air  with  which  they  mis 
pronounce  it  is  absolutely  perfect.  It  shows  that  the 
heart  is  all  right,  though  the  tongue  may  halt. . 

Stoffle,  who  had  as  contemptuous  an  opinion  of  the 
American  eagle  as  an  enlightened  traveller  need  have, 
was  not,  however,  the  man  to  quarrel  with  that  beloved 
and  somewhat  vindictive  bird.  Like  a  wise  man  he  made 
the  best  of  his  fate.  He  was 'now  in  the  prime  and  strength 
of  his  powers.  Long  practice  had  given  him  a  splendid 
facility  in  writing,  by  which  his  stores  of  facts  were 
brought  to  bear  upon  the  various  questions  of  the  day 
with  an  ability  which  was  undeniable.  He  had  wit ;  he 
had  logic;  he  had  knowledge;  he  had  experience;  he 


What  Is  Best?  83 


had  tact.  He  was  untiring,  energetic,  pertinacious,  and 
ready.  And  he  had  one  vast  advantage  over  other  men, 
his  readers,  that  he  did  not  believe  in  any  thing  but 
his  career.  Thus  it  is  not  matter  for  surprise  that  he  was 
successful.  When  an  able  man  sets  all  his  powers  to  one 
object,  he  is  not  likely  to  be  foiled,  much  less  if  that  ob 
ject  is  his  own  advancement. 

Thus  Stoffle  was  at  last  the  ideal  of  able  editors ;  and 
now  honors  crowded  upon  him,  and  riches;  he  was  not 
only  a  public  writer  but  also  a  public  speaker;  and  at 
last  the  final  tribute  which  Yankee  curiosity  pays  to 
Yankee  notoriety  or  fame,  was  rendered  also  to  him :  he 
was  invited  to  lecture.  Among  other  invitations  came 
one  from  the  students  of  his  college,  who,  remembering 
that  this  eminent  man  had  once  studied  within  their  walls, 
asked  him  to  speak  to  them  also  the  words  of  wisdom 
with  which  he  was  surcharged. 

Great  as  Stoffle  had  come  to  be,  you  are  to  understand 
that  he  had  yet  a  heart  in  his  bosom ;  and  the  perusal 
of  this  note  of  invitation,  "  written  by  permission  of  the 
Eeverend  Doctor  Wiseacre,"  and  signed  by  the  Faculty 
as  well  as  the  committee  of  students,  drew  his  thoughts 
back  to  the  dear  simple  old  school-days  which  he  had  not 
very  often  remembered  in  these  busy  later  years.  For  a 
little  while  he  lived  the  old  life  over  again,  with  all  its 
hopes,  and  fears,  and  loves ;  which,  looking  back  upon 
them  now,  from  his  proud  eminence,  seemed  to  him  so 
curiously  trivial.  "  Poor  Lucy ! "  he  sighed,  as  her  soft 
voice  resounded  dimly  over  that  dead  past;  and  then  re 
membered  with  a  smile  which  was  nearly  a  laugh,  that 


84  What  Is  Best! 


amusing  lecture  on  the  Daily  Press,  which  the  old  Doctor 
had  delivered  to  Lucy  and  himself  one  evening,  so  many 
centuries  ago. 

"What  a  singular  fossil  a  College  President  gets  to 
be ! "  he  smiled  to  himself,  knocking  the  white  ash  from 
the  end  of  a  mild  Cabana.  "  He  was  right  in  his  advice 
to  me,  by  good  luck ;  but  how  odd !  How  it  would  as 
tonish  the  old  cock  to  show  him  the  reality  of  which  he 
sees  only  the  beautiful  but  impossible  shadow !  But  he 
wouldn't  believe  me." 

He  prepared  himself  carefully  for  his  appearance  be 
fore  the  College  audience.  They  had  no  votes  for  him, 
to  be  sure ;  but  he  felt  more  solicitous  to  gain  honor  here 
than  almost  aught  elsewhere,  here,  where  something  told 
him  he  deserved  it  less.  The  lecture  had  for  its  subject 
the  glories  of  free  government ;  and  in  it  he  took  occasion 
to  speak  gratefully  of  their  venerable  and  honored  Pres 
ident,  to  whose  sound  instruction  and  sage  advice  he  owed 
it,  he  was  pleased  to  say,  that,  starting  in  life  as  a  poor 
friendless  youth,  without  any  advantages  which  might  not 
be  obtained  by  any  poor  man's  son,  he  now  stood  before 
them  what  he  was.  Nothing  touches  an  American  audi 
ence  so  sensibly  as  this  now  tolerably  stale  twaddle  about 
self-made  men..  They  do  not  see  that,  in  this  country, 
to  be  born  poor  is  to  enter  the  race  unencumbered,  and 
that  in  truth  it  is  far  more  difficult  for  a  rich  American's 
son  to  acquire  useful  knowledge,  energy,  and  tact,  than 
to  crawl  through  the  eye  of  a  needle.  Let  us  hope  that 
some  day  this  humbug  of  struggling  poverty  and  work 
ending  triumphantly  in  a  brown-stone  front  on  the  Fifth 


What  Is  Best?  85 


Avenue  will  also  be  exploded ;  and  that  we  shall  cease 
to  count  our  victories  by  the  dollar's  worth. 

Lucy  was  among  the  audience  you  may  be  sure.  She 
could  not  but  remember,  and  with  a  slight  pang  from  a 
wound  long  ago  healed  over,  that  this  was  an  occasion 
to  which  she  had  once  looked  as  one  of  especial  pride  to 
herself.  And  now — 

The  lecture  being  done,  and  properly  applauded,  the 
lecturer  approached  Mrs.  Professor  White,  and  congratu 
lating  her  on  her  good  looks,  begged  to  be  introduced  to 
her  husband. 

Lucy  was  rather  glad  when  Doctor  Wiseacre  bore  her 
old-time  lover  off  to  his  house.  It  was  no  small  treat  for 
the  worthy  President,  living  all  his  life  in  retirement,  to 
meet  a  man  fresh  from  the  outer  world,  and  living,  so  to 
speak,  in  the  face  of  affairs.  To  rub  himself  against  such 
a  brilliant  man  of  the  world,  was  a  cheering  thing  for  the 
dear  old  fogy,  who,  though  he  thought  Stoffle  as  a  public 
man  by  no  means  in  the  right,  and  sometimes  shuddered 
at  what  seemed  to  him  very  unscrupulous  conduct,  could 
not  deny  him  splendid  talents,  nor  himself  the  credit  of 
having  drawn  them  out. 

Sitting  cozily  by  the  blazing  fire,  they  rambled  back  to 
old  times,  and  at  last  the  President  said :  "  Well,  Stoffle, 
I  scarce  thought  my  prophecy  about  your  career  would 
have  had  so  great  a  fulfilling.  I  suppose  you  would  not 
exchange  your  present  honors  for  the  poet's  wreath  you 
once  longed  for  ?  " 

"  No,  indeed,"  replied  Stoffle,  emphatically ;  "  that  was 
one  of  the  silly  vagaries  of  my  youth,  of  which  I  was 


86  What  Is  Best? 


soon  cured  when  once  I  came  in  contact  with  practical 
life.  Our  time  has  not  come  yet  for  poetry,  and  I  hope 
it  never  will.  There  never  was  a  practical  poet." 

"Perhaps  not;  and,  after  all,  the  greatest  poets  could 
not  do  more  than  you  gentlemen  of  the  press  are  do 
ing.  I  don't  agree  with  your  views  altogether,  you 
know — " 

"  Why,  no ;  but  I  think  that  is  because  you  mistake 
the  whole  scope  of  journalism,"  interrupted  Stoffle,  deter 
mined  now  to  give  this  old  fogy  a  shot.  "You  are  not 
practical.  I  remember,  as  though  it  were  yesterday,  th'at 
fine  speech  of  yours  about  the  daily  paper.  But  I  assure 
you  you  are  very  much  mistaken.  It  is  an  error  to  sup 
pose  that  a  daily  journal  has  a  mission  any  more  than 
any  other  commercial  enterprise.  One  man  sells  cotton, 
and  another  man  sells  newspapers,  and  it  is  the  business 
of  each  to  be  successful,  that  is  to  say,  to  gain  the  best 
profit  he  can  from  his  investment.  Each  alike  brings  to 
his  undertaking  a  certain  capital,  and  a  certain  amount 
of  business  talent,  experience,  and  shrewdness.  Every 
merchant  has  his  public,  whom  he  is  obliged  to  please,  or 
fail.  A  sensible  merchant,  who  desires  to  keep  out  of 
the  bankruptcy  court,  will,  of  course,  strive  to  make  his 
public  as  numerous  as  possible.  •  At  the  same  time  no 
merchant's  public  is  so  exacting  and  capricious  as  ours, 
because  none  needs  to  be  so  large ;  and  therefore  to  carry 
on  a  newspaper  successfully  requires  perhaps,  though  I 
say  it,  more  talent  and  tact  and  energy  and  shrewdness 
than  any  other  business  in  the  world. 

"  The  first  business  of  a  daily  journal  is  to  give  news, 


What  Is  JBest?  87 


all  the  news,  more  news,  if  possible,  than  any  other 
paper  gives,  and  of  a  more  attractive  kind.  This  is  the 
prime  necessity,  before  which  every  thing  else  pales.  Of 
course  it  must  happen  occasionally  that  I  am  forced  to 
publish  something  which,  could  I  afford  it,  I  would  not 
print ;  and,  more  frequently,  I  am  obliged  to  magnify 
rumors  to-day  only  to  contradict  them  to-morrow ;  and 
these  things  are  not  pleasant  to  an  editor  who  desires 
also  to  be  a  gentleman.  But  what  is  an  unfortunate  man 
to  do?  There  must  be  newspapers,  because  the  public 
needs  them ;  and  if  I  do  not  publish  a  certain  statement 
some  one  else  will,  and  my  readers  go  off  to  another  pa 
per.  Our  public  gives  us  no  choice.  It  is  our  master. 
If  I  do  not  please  it  I  lose  it ;  if  I  do  not  keep  up  my 
circulation  my  advertising  fails,  and  then  I  sink  money, 
and  presently  come  to  a  wind  up,  just  as  a  dry-goods 
man  would  who  should  fail  to  keep  such  goods  as  his 
lady  customers  wish.  You  look  sober,  Sir;  but  are  we 
to  "be  less  wise  than  A.  T.  Stewart  ? 

"Then  you  spoke  of  shaping  public  opinion.  You 
never  were  more  mistaken.  An  able  daily  appears  to 
shape  public  opinion,  but  it  only  leads  it.  The  man  who 
has  the  loudest  lungs  in  a  crowd  can  lead  it  if  he  will ; 
but  he  can  not  lead  it  away  from  its  purpose.  He  can 
only  place  himself  skillfully  at  its  head,  and,  knowing  its 
aims,  submit  to  be  pushed  on  in  advance.  Now  a  party 
in  the  State  is  only  a  larger  mob.  There  are  always  at 
least  two  parties ;  and  it  is  the  able  editor's  first  business 
to  ascertain  which  of  the  two  is  the  most  likely  to  win,  and 
to  lead  that.  For  the  biggest  crowd  is  the  majority,  and 


88  What  Is  Best  ? 


the  majority  rules,  and  it  the  able  daily  is  therefore  bound 
to  lead. 

"  How  about  principle,  did  you  say  ?  Don't  you  see 
that  there  is  no  principle  involved  in  party  warfare? 
Certain  men  want  power,  are  ambitious  to  rule  the  na 
tion.  They  set  the  people  by  the  ears  about  an  abstrac 
tion,  persuade  the  nation  that  all  depends  upon  the  suc 
cess  of  this  or  that  man ;  and  thus  play  the  game  of  poli 
tics.  Show  me  one  man  of  them  that  has  any  real  prin 
ciple  of  action  other  than  that  very  important  one  of  You 
tickle  me  and  I'll  tickle  you.  There  is  no  right  or  prin 
ciple  involved,  and  if  there  was  it  wouldn't  matter ;  for, 
after  all  our  squabbles,  God  overrules  it  all  for  the  best. 

"It  is  an  editor's  business  to  know  what  the  public 
likes,  and  to  give  them  that.  It  is  a  shrewd  editor's  bus 
iness  to  foresee  in  what  direction  public  opinion  is  next 
to  turn,  and  to  be  the  first  to  sound  the  advance  in  this 
new  direction.  And  it  is  his  first  duty,  when  he  has  by 
unwise  haste  taken  a  wrong  step,  to  take  it  back.  Igno 
rant  people  cry  down  the  London  Times  because,  having 
yesterday  blown  hot,  to-day  it  blows  cold  on  the  same 
subject.  But  therein  lies  the  secret  of  its  immense  suc 
cess.  Yesterday  it  made  a  mistake.  Before  night  that 
mistake  was  seen.  This  morning  it  comes  out  with  an 
able  article  which  appears,  but  only  appears,  to  shape  the 
public  opinion.  In  fact,  it  only  gives  it  Voice  ;  and  this, 
so  far  as  the  editorial  department  is  concerned,  is  the 
true  course  of  the  daily  newspaper — to  furnish  words 
for  the  ideas  which  rest  dormant  and  inarticulate  in  the 
minds  of  the  public. 


What  Is  Best  ?  89 


"Conscience,  do  you  say?  But,  my  dear  Sir,  con 
science  has  nothing  to  do  with  it.  Don't  you  see  that 
plainly  enough  ?  Of  course  we  all  want  to  do  what  is 
right.  But  a  newspaper  is  not  a  moral  agent ;  it  is  a 
commercial  speculation,  whose  only  duty  is  success.  A 
dry-goods  man  would  be  thought  insane  who  should  in 
sist  on  selling  goods  which  only  a  few  of  the  community 
want.  And  just  in  the  same  way  a  newspaper  aims  to 
get  as  large  a  public  as  possible.  If  that  public  is  vacil 
lating,  if  its  moral  sense  is  low,  if  it  cares  little  for  princi 
ple  and  much  for  interest,  that  is  a  misfortune,  to  be 
sure ;  but  the  newspaper  is  not  responsible  for  it.  It  has 
only  to  follow.  It  is  useless  to  set  yourself  to  imprac 
ticable  things.  In  this  world  twice  two  makes  four,  and 
that  is  a  principle  we  can't  change.  I  do  not  say  that 
an  editor  is  not  to  have  opinions  of  his  own.  God  for 
bid  !  He  can  not  help  having  them ;  and  the  abler  he 
is  the  more  unpractical  and  impracticable  his  private 
opinions  are  likely  to  be.  Now  it  is  his  first  duty  to  be 
practical.  And  if  an  editor  is  not  successful,  what  is  the 
use  of  him  ?  can  you  tell  me  that,  Sir  ?  He  had  much 
better  saw  wood. 

"  You  think  the  public  sensible,  and  in  the  main  right. 
The  public  is  an  ass,  and  can  kick.  You,  simple-hearted 
and  right-minded  country  gentleman,  think  I  do  not 
know  what  the  public  wants.  But  is  not  my  paper  suc 
cessful?  and  is  not  that  the  only  criterion?  You  ob 
ject  to  scandal ;  but  I,  who  do  not  like  it  either,  know 
that  the  paper  which  gives  the  most  will  sell  best.  You 
think  an  editor  should  be  governed  by  high  moral  prin- 


90  What  Is  J3est? 


ciple.  He  ought  not  to  be  such  an  ass  as  to  let  any  body 
else  use  him — that  I  grant  you.  But  the  public  does  not 
care  for  principle.  It  is  a  pig,  and  likes  to  have  its 
ribs  tickled.  Let  the  news  be  exciting,  and  it  cares  not 
if  it  be  also  true.  Let  the  article  be  slashing,  and  it 
matters  little  whom  it  slashes.  Let  the  story  be  strong 
enough,  and  you  will  see  that  every  man  has  read  it,  by 
the  fierceness  with  which  every  man  abuses  the  paper 
that  gives  it." 

There  was  a  long  silence  when  Stoffle  was  done. 
Each  sat  gazing  into  the  fire,  and  busy  with  his  own 
thoughts.  The  old  president  looked  grieved  and  a  good 
deal  surprised  at  the  doctrine  which  his  scholar  had  just 
laid  down  to  him.  Stoffle  was  so  plausible  that  even  a 
president  and  doctor  of  divinity  may  be  excused  for  ask 
ing  himself  if  this  was  indeed  the  truth  of  the  matter. 

At  last  the  Eeverend  Doctor  Wiseacre  looked  up  into 
Stoffle's  flushed  face,  and  said,  "I  am  sorry  I  advised  you 
to  go  to  New  York." 

"And  I,"  said  the  editor,  bowing  gracefully,  "shall 
never  cease  to  be  grateful  for  your  sound  counsel." 

"  Some  day  you  will  think  differently.  Aaron  was 
not  the  last  high-priest  who  set  up  a  golden  calf  for  his 
people  to  worship,  crying,  *  These  be  your  gods,  0  Isra 
el!'  But  Aaron  repented,  and  so  I  trust  will  you. 
( Except  the  Lord  build  the  house,  they  labor  in  vain 
that  build  it :  except  the  Lord  keep  the  city,  the  watch 
man  waketh  but  in  vain.  It  is  in  vain  for  you  to  rise 
up  early,  to  sit  up  late,  to  eat  the  bread  of  sorrows :  for 
so  he  giveth  his  beloved  sleep.' " 


What  Is  Best?  91 


"That  is  all  very  true,"  replied  Stoffle;  "but  don't 
you  see  you  are  not  practical,  my  dear  Sir ;  you  are  not 
practical." 

Saying  which  he  rose  to  retire ;  and  here  I  propose  to 
leave  him.  The  historian  should  be  judge  and  not  ad 
vocate.  It  is  for  him  to  state  the  case  fairly  and  trust 
the  verdict  to  the  jury  of  readers,  each  of  whom  must  at 
last  settle  this  question  for  himself,  of  "What  is  best?  " 


A  STRUGGLE   FOR   LIFE. 


A  STRUGGLE  FOR  LIFE. 


I. 

TT  was  the  last  day  of  the  Indiana  Conference.  All 
business  was  dispatched,  and  the  assembled  preachers 
waited  only  for  that  last  and  most  important  announce 
ment  which  should  decide  for  each  the  scene  of  his  next 
year's  labors.  In '  the  Methodist  communion  the  bishop 
who  presides  over  the  annual  meeting  called  the  "Con 
ference"  wields  the  appointing  power.  His  word,  in 
this  matter,  has  been  wisely  made  supreme;  and  though, 
with  the  degenerating  Methodists  of  the  Eastern  States, 
the  body  of  presiding  elders  prompts  the  wisdom  of  their 
superior,  while  the  larger  and  wealthier  congregations  go 
one  step  further  and  ask  privately  beforehand  for  the 
man  of  their  choice,  in  the  generous  West  they  stick  to 
the  primitive  mode,  trusting  to  the  experience  of  the 
bishop  that  he  shall  so  fit  the  men  to  the  churches  that 
neither  may  be  wronged. 

Nor,  let  it  be  said  here  to  the  honor  of  those  venerable 
men,  who  have  now  for  more  than  half  a  century  exer- 


96  A  Struggle  for  Life. 


cised  this  somewhat  arbitrary  power,  has  there  often  been 
found  just  cause  of  complaint. 

The  list  of  appointments  is  prepared  during  the  session 
of  Conference,  and  is  kept  strictly  secret ;  so  that  no  one 
knew,  nor  could  form  even  a  probable  guess  at  his  fate. 
The  murmur  of  voices  was  therefore  hushed,  and  all  list 
ened  as  with  one  ear  when  the  bishop  rose  to  solve  their 
riddles  for  them. 

One  by  one  the  willing  servants  bowed  their  accepting 
heads,  with  a  sigh  of  relief  or  sorrow,  and  lost  their  gen 
eral  curiosity  in  their  particular  interest.  Presently  was 
read  out: 

"SHOTTOVER  STATION:  PAUL  CLIFTOK" 

Whereat  a  few  of  the  elder  brethren  looked  over  to 
ward  the  young  man  so  named,  scrutinizing  him  with 
critical  eyes,  as  though  measuring  his  fitness  for  this 
"  Shottover  Station ; "  while  others,  the  younger  preach 
ers,  looked  up  with  eyes  in  which  pity  for  him  was 
mingled  with  unconcealed  joy  at  their  own  escape. 

For  they  were  hard  cases  at  Shottover  Station.  The 
Church  was  small  and  weak;  the  "outsiders"  a  turbu 
lent  set,  irreverent  to  the  last  degree,  exceedingly  sharp 
at  discovering  the  preacher's  weak  points,  and  very  ready 
to  take  advantage  of  them.  A  very  stronghold  of  Satan 
was  Shottover,  where  the  poor  minister  need  hope  for 
but  small  pay  and  less  respect,  and  might  think  himself 
lucky  if  he  got  off  with  whole  bones.  Once  or  twice,  in 
deed,  in  years  past,  they  had  driven  the  newly-appointed 
man  away  by  force  of  their  brawny  arms  and  leathery 


A  Struggle  for  Life.  97 


lungs ;  and  once,  taking  an  exceeding  dislike  to  a  young 
fellow  j  ust  from  college,  and  serving  here  his  first  year 
(and  who,  as  they  complained,  "knew  every  thing"), 
they  had  combined  together  and  literally  starved  him 
out. 

Therefore  Shottover  was  a  place  to  be  avoided  by  all 
means;  a  plague-spot  which  had  driven  several  timid 
men  into  other  Conferences ;  and  to  which  now 'for  some 
years  the  youngest  member  was,  by  general  agreement 
of  the  bishop  with  his  subordinates,  sent  to  make  trial  of 
his  budding  powers,  just  as  boys  who  have  run  away 
from  home  to  sea  are  on  their  first  voyage  placed  in 
charge  of  the  sky-sails  and  royal  studding-sails,  to  loose 
and  furl  them :  whereby  at  least  those  whose  romance  lies 
but  skin-deep,  and  who  were  perhaps  called,  but  not 
chosen,  grow  to  hate  the  glorious  sea-life  in  the  precise 
proportion  as  they  scrape  the  skin  off  their  tender  shins ; 
and  are  glad,  at  the  first  port,  to  run  away  home  again. 

This  I  take  to  be  a  fine  example  of  Mr.  Darwin's  re 
cently-advanced  theory  of  "  Natural  Selection." 

Paul  Clifton,  who  sat  in  pleased  unconsciousness  a  lit 
tle  on  one  side  of  the  room,  like  a  young  bear,  all  his 
sorrows  before  him,  was  a  recent  acquisition  to  the  Con 
ference.  He  had  been  graduated  with  honor  two  years 
before  at  a  Theological  Institute  in  the  East ;  had  preach 
ed  experimentally,  and  very  acceptably,  on  various  occa 
sions,  and  to  different  city  and  country  congregations; 
had  "  taken  .a  run  over  to  Europe,"  and  was  now  counted  • 
a  promising  young  man,  whom  any  Conference  would  be 
glad  to  receive ;  when  lo !  ta  the  surprise  and  disappoint- 

E 


98  A  Struggle  for  Life. 


ment  of  his  friends,  he  set  his  face  Westward,  and  eschew 
ing  the  flesh-pots  of  New  York,  resolutely  wandered  into 
the  desert  of  Indiana.  Another  John  Baptist,  said  Miss 
Thomasina  Dobbs,  a  romantic  young  lady,  who  was 
shrewdly  suspected  of  designs  upon  the  reverend  Paul's 
heart ;  though  very  unlike  John  Baptist  indeed,  thought 
the  rough  Hoosier  preachers,  when  they  saw  him  pull  off 
his  neatly -fitting  kid  gloves  on  coming  into  the  Confer 
ence  room,  and  spread  a  white  and  clean  pocket-hand 
kerchief  on  the  dirty  floor  whereon  to  kneel  at  prayers. 

The  fact  is,  young  Clifton  had  been  bred  in  ease,  and 
had  the  outside  of  a  gentleman,  which  is  a  disadvantage 
sometimes :  particularly  if  the  inside  does  not  correspond. 
He  had  a  young  man's  natural  longing  to  go  out  into  the 
world,  and  see  a  little  of  the  rough  side  of  it,  to  try  his 
own  wings,  which  he  had  now  for  some  years  been  impa 
tiently  fluttering  on  the  edge  of  the  paternal  nest.  Add 
to  this  the  honest  enthusiasm  of  a  young  fellow  who  be 
lieves  himself  called  to  show  the  heavenly  road — not  as  a 
finger-post,  as  Jean  Paul  suggests,  which  only  points  the 
way,  but  does  not  move  itself.  And  this  tempered,  per 
haps,  by  the  modest  thought  that  it  would  be  easier  for 
him,  a  young  and  inexperienced  man,  to  lead  rough 
Hoosiers  up  this  steep  and  narrow  path  than  the  more 
refined  and  intellectual  congregations  of  the  East,  a  lit 
tle  mistake  I  have  known  wiser  men  than  the  reverend 
Paul  to  make:  as  though  the  wildest  horses  did  n.ot  need 
the  most  skillful  drivers.  Put  these  together,  and  you 
have,  I  suppose,  nearly  the  mixture  of  motives  which 
brought  him  to  avoid  the  soft  ease  of  a  "  first-class  city 


A  Struggle  for  Life.  99 


appointment,"  and  join  himself  to  this  unknown  future 
of  the  backwoods. 

The  bishop  regarded  him  with  mild  pity  as  he  read 
him  his  fate.  A  set  custom  could  not  be  violated  on  his 
account ;  nor,  indeed,  did  the  venerable  man  believe  that 
this  trial  "had  best  be  spared  the  young  preacher.  When 
the  last  hymn  was  sung,  and  the  prayer  and  benediction 
had  dismissed  the  members  to  their  homes,  he  walked 
over  to  where  Clifton  sat,  and  shaking  his  hand  encoura 
gingly,  said— 

"  Keep  up  your  spirits,  Brother  Paul !  the  sword  of  the 
Lord  is  on  your  side — 'the  sword  of  the  Lord  and  of 
Gideon.' " 

"Yes,  yes,"  remarked  an  old  fellow  who  overheard 
these  words:  "I  wish  there  was  a  little  more  Gideon 
though ;"  while  a  hard-featured  circuit-rider  growled  to 
himself,  "'Tain't  right,  hardly.  I've  a  mind  to  change 
places  with  him ;  he  looks  like  a  good  young  fellow." 

"  You  leave  him  alone,"  interrupted  old  Father  Saw 
yer  ;  "  probably  the  bishop  knows  what  he's  about.  Let 
the  young  man  take  his  chance.  The  Lord  will  pro 
vide." 

"  I  don't  believe  the  Lord  knows  much  about  Shott- 
over,"  retorted  the  circuit-rider,  who  had  enough  of 
Gideon  about  him,  at  any  rate ;  and  who  probably  would 
have  enjoyed  a  tussle  with  that  devil  of  mischief  who 
was  said  to  be  so  strongly  intrenched  in  Paul  Clifton's 
new  station. 

In  this  regard  he  differed  much  from  Paul,  who  was 
not  what  you  would  call  a  muscular  Christian,  forcing 


ioo  A  Struggle  for  Life. 


people  heavenward  by  the  fear  of  the  Lord  and  a  big 
fist ;  but  eminently  a  mild-mannered  man,  slender,  and 
more  given  to  his  Greek  Testament  than  to  his  dumb 
bells.  Old  Peter  Cartwright  would  have  counted  him 
but  small  potatoes.  But  then,  even  Peter  is  mortal ;  in 
fact,  I  find  nothing  so  very  mortal  as  muscle. 

That  he  might  properly  prepare  himself  for  personal 
contest  with  the  sons  of  Belial  who  made  Shottover  a 
by-word  and  reproach  in  the  mouths  of  the  brethren, 
these  took  care  to  fully  inform  Brother  Paul  of  the  vari 
ous  disagreeables  and  trials  he  might  expect  in  his  new 
station.  Just  in  this  way  my  grandmother  used  to  de 
scribe  to  me  beforehand,  and  with  great  minuteness  and 
conscientiousness,  the  nauseous  horrors  of  that  inimitable 
flavor  of  disgust,  an  impending  dose  of  castor-oil.  From 
which  resulted  to  me,  in  the  end,  a  strong  dislike,  not  so 
much  of  castor-oil  as  of  grandmothers,  and  particularly 
those  of  the  male  sex.  Thus  advised,  and  in  no  very 
sanguine  temper,  Paul  rode  into  Shottover  on  top  of  the 
stage,  on  a  Saturday  morning ;  and  after  refreshing  his 
inner  and  outward  man  at  the  tavern,  proceeded  to  view 
his  church. 

Now,  to  an  earnest  and  unsophisticated  Christian  like 
the  Eeverend  Paul  Clifton,  used  all  his  life  to  the  com 
fortably-cushioned  pews,  carpeted  aisles,  sofa'd  pulpits, 
and  scrupulous  cleanliness  of  our  city  churches,  the  little 
meeting-house  of  Shottover  was  like  to  be  a  shock. 

A  shock,  certainly,  to  his  sense  of  comfort  and  decen 
cy  ;  perhaps,  who  knows  ?  to  his  faith  in  the  Christian 
doctrine. 


A  Struggle  for  Life.  101 


It  is  unpleasantly  situated  in  the  extreme  edge  of  a 
bare  and  sterile  clay -bank,  down  which,  I  believe,  it 
will  slip  some  rainy  day.  Its  lo%w  roof;  its  mud -be 
spattered  walls,  once  painted  a  dirty  white ;  its  narrow 
door-way,  making  no  allowance  for  sinners  in  crinoline ; 
its  ragged  wagon-shed,  like  Jack  Straw's  house,  neither 
wind-tight  nor  water-tight,  and  through  whose  board- 
sides  several  generations  of  idle  horses  had  gnawed  sun 
dry  holes,  which  gave  their  successors  occasional  privi 
leged  squints  into  a  cool  meadow  beyond,  thus  pointing 
a  Sunday  lesson  even  to  obstinate  horse-flesh,  by  this 
pleasant  vision  of  heavenly  grass  fields ;  and  this  flanked 
by  an  appalling  architectural  novelty,  a  bell -tower,  or 
embryo  steeple,  standing  on  its  own  base,  and  giving  the 
impression  to  an  unfamiliar  eye  that  it  had  been  lifted 
down  from  its  proper  place  on  the  roof  by  some  light- 
handed  giant :  all  this  does  not  promise  well  to  a  man 
who  holds  his  faith  by  the  ties  of  mere  use  and  comfort. 

Within,  the  narrow  aisles  are  covered  with  a  fine  coat 
ing  of  yellow  Indiana  mud.  The  hard,  straight-backed, 
uncushioned  pews  afford  no  rest  to  the  wicked ;  nor  in 
deed  to  the  pious  either,  unless,  as  is  sometimes  the 
case,  piety  and  fat  are  found  in  the  same  body.  The 
preaching-stand  has  at  least  the  merit  of  consistency, 
being  neither  cleaner  nor  more  ornamental  than  the  rest 
of  the  church.  Eain  -  stained  windows  ;  bare,  white 
washed,  and  partly  "peeled"  walls,  white  where  no 
stains  of  tobacco  betoken  the  resting-place  of  some  saint 
who  chews  the  cud  of  Virginia  content  beneath  the  shad 
ow  of  the  preacher's  long  arms  ;  and  a  huge  stove,  whose 


102  A  Struggle  for  Life. 


two  diverging  pipes  stretch  like  vast  arms  along  the  ceil 
ing  on  both  sides,  as  though  preparing  to  shed  a  fervid 
blessing  on  the  assemblage :  truly  here  was  found  cause 
sufficient  for  a  series  of  shocks  to  Christians  of  weak  faith 
or  sensitive  nerves. 

II. 

Nevertheless,  though  cleanliness  is  next  to  godliness, 
a  dirty  shirt  is  not  evidence  of  the  unpardonable  sin ; 
and  I  have  known  men  whose  hard  hands  and  soiled 
clothes  hid  a  soul  so  clean  that,  if  you  were  not  wretch 
edly  near-sighted,  and  could  see  at  all  through  a  coating 
of  clean  dirt,  you  at  once  took  such  to  your  heart. 

Such  an  one  was  Farmer  Leighton.  A  tall,  raw-boned, 
hard-featured  man,  with  the  awkward  straddling  gait, 
uncertain  poise  of  body,  and  splay  feet,  which  are  the  re 
wards  an  inscrutable  Providence  decrees  for  a  life  of  se 
vere  toil,  perhaps  to  teach  us  to  look  beneath  the  sur 
face  for  the  truest  worth ;  perhaps  also  to  warn  us  that 
man  does  not  live  by  bread  alone,  and  that  Mary  did  in 
deed  choose  a  better  part  than  serviceable  Martha. 

Farmer  Leighton  was  .now  a  well-to-do  personage  in 
his  little  world.  A  man  of  some  forty-five  summers,  in 
most  of  which  corn-plantin'g,  hay-making,  reaping,  and 
housing  crops,  the  multifarious,  never-ceasing  toils  of 
the  farm,  had  left  their  marks  not  lightly  upon  him; 
with  scant,  grizzled  side-whiskers,  and  a  chin  wretchedly 
shaven  by  a  dull  razor  and  an  unsteady,  wearied  hand; 
hair  of  that  tawny  sandy  hue  which  betokens  several 


A  Struggle  for  Life.  103 


generations  of  rough  struggle  with  forest-life,  hanging 
down  in  straight  and  tangled  locks  about  his  ears  and 
coat-collar;  and  a  Sunday  suit  of  blue  Kentucky -jeans, 
home-made,  and  ingeniously  contrived  to  show  every  an 
gle  and  rough  knot  and  ungraceful  line  in  the  poor,  ill- 
used  body  beneath.  This  was  the  man  whose  harsh, 
cracked  voice,  with  a  querulous  quaver  in  it  at  first,  and 
a  strange  after-tone  of  protecting  and  loving  care,  called 
out 

"Now,  then,  old  lady!" 

At  which  a  bright  bay  mare,  harnessed  to  a  mud- 
splashed  buggy,  standing  near  the  hitching-post  at  the 
gate,  pricked  up  her  ears  and  wondered  what  she  had 
done  now. 

As  though  there  were  no  other  old  lady  in  the  world ! 

"In  a  minute,"  answered  a  voice  from  within-doors, 
having  in  it  also  a  certain  uncertain  tremble — a  quaver, 
however,  which  stood  for  the  fearfulness  of  a  long  and 
much-loving  heart,  whose  meek  habit  was  to  fit  its  mo 
tions  to  the  convenience  of  others;  a  voice  soft  and 
agreeable,  even  though  it  was  cracked;  and  hinting  of 
many  cares  and  much  housewifely  forecast.  And  pres 
ently  appeared  in  the  covered  way  of  the  comfortable 
double  log-cabin  a  portly  dame  to  whom  this  voice  be 
longed. 

Her  followed  a  young  girl,  blue-eyed  and  fair-haired, 
as  they  are  in  Indiana,  and  of  such  buxom  and  shapely 
form,  combining  strength  with  grace,  as  is  the  natu 
ral  result  of  "  hog  and  hominy,"  plenty  of  fresh  air,  and 
a  total  lack  of  servants  and  other  incentives  to  a  lazy 


104  d  Struggle  for  Life. 


life.  Her  name  is  Miranda  Leighton,  for  which  I  am 
sorry,  for  I  believe  she  might  better  have  been  called  by 
some  such  honest  and  plain  name  as  Susan,  Jane,  or  Eliza. 
But  the  Hoosier  farmers,  having  little  other  grandeur  to 
bestow  upon  their  children,  are  pretty  sure  to  give  them 
grand  and  outlandish  names;  and  I  have  a  respect  for 
facts,  which  are  stubborn  things,  but  useful  in  their  way. 

Miranda  unfastened  her  pony  from  a  rack  beneath  the 
wagon-shed,  where  he  had  stood  under  shelter,  lucky 
beast!  and  leading  him  up  to  the  horse-block,  leaped 
lightly  into  the  saddle.  As  she  settled  herself  there, 
helped  by  her  father's  kindly  hands,  a  horseman  rode 
into  the  open  by  a  turn  of  the  road. 

"There's  John  now,"  said  Mrs.  Leighton.  "John, 
come,  go  to  church  with  us." 

"I'm  goin',"  said  he.  "Ther's  a  new  minister,  ain't 
thar?" 

"  Yes ;  and  no  tricks  now,  John,"  urged  his  mother, 
beseechingly. 

"  No,  indeed ;  we're  goin'  to  listen — see  what  stuff  he's 
made  of.  Guess  the  boys  '11  be  still  enough  to-day." 

"  I'll  warrant  they'll  all  be  thar,"  grumbled  old  man 
Leighton. 

Which  was  a  safe  guess;  for,  next  to  a  circus,  nothing 
draws  so  large  a  crowd  in  an  Indiana  village  as  public 
speaking  of  any  kind ;  and  above  all,  a  new  preacher.  A 
talent  for  oratory  is  worshiped  by  all  the  West ;  and  a 
man  who  really  has  something  to  say,  and  knows  how  to 
say  it  as  though  he  believed  with  all  his  heart,  could  not 
have  a  more  appreciative  audience  than  these  rough,  plain 


A  Struggle  for  Life.  105 


Indiana  farmers.  Nor  will  you  find  anywhere  sharper 
or  more  relentless  critics  than  these.  As  logical  as  chil 
dren,  and  as  impatient  of  humbug,  they  are  ever  ready 
with  a  biting  word,  which  pierces  to  the  core  of  some 
conscious  misstatement,  or  sophistry  which  the  speaker 
is  not  himself  taken  in  by. 

So  the  sister  and  brother  rode  off  together  in  advance, 
while  the  old  folks  followed  at  such  leisurely  pace  as 
suited  the  bay  mare,  who  had  had  her  own  way  so  many 
years  that  she  took  it  now  as  a  matter  of  right. 

Miranda  had  just  returned  from  school.  In  Indiana 
the  boys  must  work,  and  their  schooling  comes,  if  at  all, 
by  fits  and  starts — as  they  say  lawyers  get  to  heaven.  It 
is  theirs  to  battle  with  the  primal  curse  from  their  earliest 
years,  and  such  learning  as  they  get  is  picked  up  at  odd 
times,  and  chiefly  from  their  Bibles  and  the  agricultural 
papers.  But  the  girls  go  to  school.  For  them  money 
is  laid  by ;  and  as  they  grow  to  young  womanhood,  poor 
indeed  must  be  the  farmer  who  does  not  send  his  daugh 
ter  away  to  boarding-school  in  some  city  or  larger  town, 
where  she  has,  at  any  rate,  the  opportunity  to  gather  such 
of  the  ways,  and  thoughts,  and  accomplishments  of  a  more 
finished  culture  as  may  assimilate  best  with  her  nature. 
With  these  advantages  the  daughter  becomes  the  oracle 
of  the  house,  cherished  by  all  as  a  being  of  a  superior  kind, 
and  greatly  held  in  awe  by  younger  brothers,  who  sub 
mit,  with  what  grace  may  be,  to  her  dominion.  Miranda, 
as  I  said,  had  just  returned  from  school.  The  free  air 
and  pleasant  sunshine  of  this  Sunday  morning,  and  the 
exhilarating  canter  of  the  pony,  raised  her  spirits,  and 

E2  " 


io6  A  Struggle  for  Life. 


gave  her  courage  to  administer  a  scolding  to  John,  some 
of  whose  tricks  she  had  heard  of  on  her  return  from 
school  at  Louisville. 

"  Don't  you  see  it's  very  wrong?  "  she  asked,  with  such 
a  sparkle  in  her  eyes  as  made  it  vaguely  doubtful  to  con 
trite  John  whether  it  was  nearly  so  wrong  as  he  had  be 
fore  thought  to  tie  a  raccoon  under  the  bench  occupied 
by  the  young  ladies'  Bible  class  in  church,  where  it  had 
scratched  and  snarled  at  every  pause  in  the  sermon,  to 
the  great  distress  of  the  young  ladies  and  the  intense  de 
light  of  the  boys. 

" Don't  you  see  it's  wrong?"  she  repeated.  "Didn't 
mother  always  tell  you  to  be  a  good  boy ;  and  didn't  I 
always  tell  you  to  behave?  " 

"I'm  going  to  be  as  good  as  pie,  now  you've  come 
back,  Sis,"  said  John,  turning  toward  the  pleased  Miran 
da  a  face  really  expressive  of  a  vast  amount  of  contrition*. 
But  alas !  as  he  turned  in  the  saddle  a  horrifying  screech 
interrupted  this  charming  scene. 

"O  Lord!"  exclaimed  John,  sliding  nimbly  off  his 
horse,  and  making  a  desperate  grab  after  his  coat-tails, 
from  a  pocket  in  one  of  which  presently  emerged  a  good- 
sized  cat,  spitting  out  in  evident  rage  at  her  treatment, 
and  with  eyes  sparkling,  head  down,  and  tail  erect,  rushed 
off  into  the  woods. 

There  was  a  dead  and  ominous  silence  for  the  space  of 
twenty  interminable  seconds. 

"  Now,  JOHN" ! "  at  last  exclaimed  Miranda,  very  slow 
ly,  and  with  an  injured  air ;  "  NOW,  JOHN ! " 

And  then  the  little  witch  could  hold  her  grave  face  no 


A  Struggle  for  Life.  107 


longer,  but  burst  out  into  such  a  peal  of  laughter  that 
the  pony  was  at  a  loss  to  know  what  it  all  meant,  while 
the  bay  mare  hurried  up  her  lagging  paces,  very  much 
surprised  indeed,  and  anxious  to  discover  the  cause  of  such 
sudden  merriment. 

"  You  BAD,  WICKED  boy !  "  exclaimed  Miranda,  catch 
ing  a  moment's  breath,  and  with  it  a  grave  face ;  but  see 
ing  John  still  standing  by  his  horse,  with  red  face,  and 
hands  closely  held  to  his  coat-tails,  she  broke  away  again 
into  a  laugh  which  the  woods  were  very  glad  indeed  to 
echo. 

"I  didn't  mean  to've  sot  on  her,"  said  John,  respect 
fully,  willing  to  mollify  his  sister ;  "  guess  she  ain't  hurt 
much. 

"  I'll  catch  her  if  you  like,"  he  added,  suddenly,  in  the 
hope  that  an  offer  of  service,  of  whatever  kind,  would 
help  him  out. 

"  'Tain't  that,  you  stupid  boy,  you  know  very  well," 
laughed  Miranda,  trying  to  assume  that  severity  of 
countenance  which  she  felt  the  occasion  and  the  offense 
demanded.  "  What  was  the  cat  doing  in  your  pocket, 
you  dreadful  fellow?" 

"Can't  a  feller  take  his  cat  to  church  without  you 
pitchin'  into  him  ?  "  retorted  John,  in  injured  tones ;  and 
then  feeling  that  defense  was  worse  than  useless  in  his 
case,  and  seeing,  besides,  the  bay  mare  approaching,  with 
father  and  mother  peering  curiously  at  their  children,  he 
judged  it  prudent  to  remount  his  horse  and  ride  off  at 
such  a  pace  that  he  was  not  likely  to  be  caught.  But  as 
he  rode  Miranda  noticed,  with  a  chuckle  of  satisfaction, 


io8  A  Struggle  for  Life. 


that  he  still  held  one  hand  carefully  in  the  neighborhood 
of  that  coat-pocket  which  had  contained  the  luckless  cat. 


III. 

The  Eeverend  Paul  Clifton  rose  early  on  this  Sunday 
morning,  and  was  the  first  man — after  the  sexton — to  en 
ter  the  church.  To  say  that  he  felt  comfortable  would  be 
to  make  him  out  a  fool,  which  he  was  not.  It  was  a  novel 
situation ;  and  I  dare  say  it  costs  a  gentleman  more  seri 
ous  thought  to  preach  to  a  congregation  of  backwoods 
men  than  it  does  Peter  Cartwright  to  expound  his  Gos 
pel  to  a  Fifth  Avenue  audience.  When  he  had  seen  his 
church,  or  meeting-house,  when  he  had  made  the  ac 
quaintance  of  the  sexton,  and  some  others  of  the  leading 
members,  when  he  had  slept  upon  his  impressions,  and 
now,  on  this  bright  Sunday  morning,  was  arrived  at  the 
climax  of  his  troubles,  the  reader  who  will  believe  me 
that  the  Eeverend  Paul  was  not  only  an  honest  young 
fellow,  but  also  a  man  who  thought  modestly  of  his  own 
abilities,  will  not  be  surprised  that  he  sat  in  uncomforta 
ble  anxiety  for  the  result. 

For  to  fail  here  was  to  fail  utterly.  I  am  ashamed  to 
refer  again  to  Mr.  Darwin,  but  here  was  what  that  emi 
nent  naturalist  very  properly  calls  a  "  struggle  for  life." 

It  was  only  in  these  two  days  that  the  solemn  ques 
tion,  What  is  the  full  force  and  meaning  of  this  office  I 
have  taken  upon  myself?  began  to  crowd  upon  him  in 
all  its  wide  and  serious  bearings. 


A  Struggle  for  Life.  109 


And  what,  indeed,  is  it  to  be  what  we  call  indifferent 
ly  preacher,  pastor,  missionary  ? 

The  Natural  History  of  the  Clergyman  is  still  to  be 
written.  I  do  not  intend  to  bore  the  sufficiently  impa 
tient  reader  by  interpolating  in  this  place  any  attempt  at 
so  important  a  work.  But  pending  the  advent  of  the 
great  ecclesiastical  Agassiz,  what  is  to  prevent  me  from 
setting  down  here  my  little  preliminary  "  Essay  on  Clas 
sification  ?  "  See :  there  is, 

1.  The  wishy-washy  young  man,  who  would  starve  in 
any  other  calling,  and  therefore  literally  "  preaches  for  a 
living  • " 

2.  The  fluent  young  man,  who  preaches  because  that 
is  the  most  impressive  way  of  saying  nothing ; 

3.  The  ambitious  young  man,  who  sees  that  the  prefix 
Keverend  gives,  even  in  our 'Protestant  America,  a  cer 
tain  power  and  influence  to  its  possessor ; 

4.  The  wide-awake  young  man,  who  knows  that  for 
him  there  is  no  such  easy  way  to  gain  bread  and  butter 
and  honor  (and  a  rich  wife)  as  the  pulpit ; 

5.  The  studious  young  man,  who  turns  clergyman  that 
he  may  gain  leisure  for  his  favorite  books  and  studies ; 

6.  The  young  man  who  has  a  certain  intellectual  the 
ory  of  Christianity,  with  which  he  thinks  it  desirable  to 
quiet  the  world.     This  one,  I  sometimes  think,  lacks  only 
a  little  true  piety  to  be  indeed  the  model  clergyman  of 
the  age ; 

And,  lastly — not  to  make  this  list  too  long — there  is 
your  man  who,  feeling  not  only  his  neighbor's  but  his 
own  pride,  and  selfishness,  and  arrogance,  and  forgetful- 


no  A  Struggle  for  Life. 


ness  of  God,  and  of  all  good  words  and  works,  feels  also 
that  above  all  mere  dickering  for  place,  or  power,  or  su 
perfluous  bread  and  butter,  or  any  low  ambition  whatever, 
is  the  divine  office  of  leading  his  .fellows  from  these 
abysses,  where  devils  lie  in  wait  for  their  souls,  to  those 
green  fields  where  Christ  the  Shepherd  waits  his  sheep. 
To  such  men  he  said  of  old,  and  says  to-day,  "Go  ye 
into  all  the  world  and  proclaim  the  Gospel  to  every  creat 
ure,  beginning  at  Jerusalem."  To  such  Christ  is  he 
who  "  came  into  the  world  to  save  sinners,  of  whom  I 
am  chief."  These  are  they,  the  true  ministers  of  His 
Word,  following  and  teaching  Him  with  that  divine  love 
and  charity  which  compels  the  rudest  souls.  Shall  we 
complain  if  any  such  go  forth  comprehending  their  great 
work  vaguely — looking  out  upon  it  as  through  a  glass, 
darkly?  doubting,  hesitating,  in  fear  and  trembling? 
like  Gideon,  the  son  of  Joash,  asking  vain  signs  of  their 
Lord  ?  I  think  few  men  set  out  on  their  life-work,  if 
it  be  any  thing  higher  than  mere  selfish  toil,  with  any 
clear  ideas  of  what  they  are  to  do.  Your  logical  man  is 
your  thorough  rascal.  So  let  us  not  doubt  of  Paul  Clif 
ton,  if  his  heart  sank  down  into  his  boots  as  he  sat  in 
his  pulpit  on  that  Sunday  morning,  watching  the  en 
trance  of  his  congregation  ;  who  now  began  to  slide  in, 
in  little  awkward  squads  of  six  or  seven,  bashfully  ex 
amining  "  the  new  minister"  as  they  pushed  up  the  aisles 
into  their  seats. 

'They  need  not  strain  their  eyes  to  see  him.  Here  was 
no  dim  religious  light,  such  as  some  of  our  city  churches 
affect,  and  which  is  so  admirable  a  help  to  sleep  that  I 


A  Struggle  for  Life.  in 


don't  wonder  wearied  Wall  Street  cultivates  it.  The  broad 
pleasant  sunshine  poured  in  boldly  through  that  part  of 
the  open  and  curtainless  windows  not  obstructed  by  the 
opaque  bodies  of  sundry  Hoosier  lads  who  preferred  a 
seat  in  the  window  ledges,  a  luxury  refused  them  on 
week-days,  when  slab-sided  Jehoram  Baker,  the  Yankee 
pedagogue,  here  taught  the  young  idea  how  to  shoot. 

And  now  'as  Miranda,  her  face  composed,  and  her  hand 
holding  her  brother's  arm,  marched  that  reluctant  youth 
up  the  aisle,  her  dress  caught  one  of  the  intellectual  pop 
guns  which  lay  at  random  about  the  floor;  whereat  a 
small  boy,  coming  behind  with  his  mother,  gave  an  anx 
ious  glance,  then  dove  down  desperately  into  the  crowd, 
crying  out  in  a  shrill  treble,  "Dog-on  it,  that's  my  spell 
er!  "  Then  brandished  aloft  the  precious  dog's-eared 
volume  he  had  rescued,  and  was  incontinently  suppressed 
by  his  irate  mother,  who  looked  maternal  thunders  at  the 
unlucky  urchin  who  had  dared  to  "  holler  out  in  meetin' ! " 

Paul  smiled  as  his  eyes  took  in  the  scene,  whose  gro 
tesque  humor  relieved  him  for  a  moment  from  his  load 
of  anxiety.  And  now  the  service  began. 

If  you  think  I  am  going  to  give  you  the  sermon,  or 
any  part  of  it,  you  are  mistaken.  A  mere  sermon  don't 
often  convert  any  body,  not  even  the  preacher.  Old 
John  Wesley  augured  badly  of  the  man  who  told  him 
that  he,  Wesley,  had  converted  him ;  and  begged  him  to 
pray  the  Lord  to  do  it  over.  Webster  defines  a  sermon 
to  be  a  pious  and  instructive  discourse.  Now,  it  can't 
be  pious  without  being  instructive ;  and,  moreover,  Dr. 
Webster's  definition  excludes  a  considerable  class  of  ser- 


H2  A  Struggle  for  Life. 


mons,  which  are  neither  pious  nor  instructive,  but  only 
logical,  or  theological,  which  is  worse.  For  I  believe, 
with  one  of  our  greatest  preachers,  that  all  theology  comes 
of  the  devil ;  and  when  a  man  gets  into  his  pulpit  and 
begins  to  lay  out  the  Christian  doctrine  to  me  by  rule  of 
thumb,  or  by  any  other  rule  but  that  golden  one  of  which 
Christ  said  that  he  who  keeps  this  fulfills  all  the  law  and 
the  prophets — then  I  try  very  hard  to  run  my  thoughts 
off  on  some  little  side  track  of  my  own,  where  they  may 
quietly  take  another  train  and  go  to  a  quite  different 
place  from  the  preacher's. 

When  Paul  rose  he  read  aloud  those  beautiful  promises 
of  Christ  on  the  Mount.  And  as  he  read,  his  heart,  till 
now  dumb  with  fear  before  this  strange  people,  grew 
strong  and  full  with  the  dear  love  which  speaks  in  every 
line  of  those  blessed  words.  It  is  not  so  much  words  a 
speaker  needs  as  thoughts ;  and  not  so  much  thoughts  as 
the  one  great  inspiring  thought  which  shall  bind  his  au 
dience  to  him,  and  make  him  and  them  from  that  time 
kindred  and  of  one  spirit.  In  this  sign  he  conquers.  And 
this  sign  ?  Men  call  it  sympathy :  He  called  it  love.  In 
what  manner  should  he  speak  ?  How  should  he  manage, 
to  please  them  ?  had  been  Paul's  troubled  thought.  But 
now  they  were  no  longer  they.  No  longer  farmers,  rude, 
uncouth,  peculiar,  different — but  men  and  brethren,  of 
the  same  thoughts,  the  same  hopes,  the  same  fears,  the 
same  heaven-born  aspirations.  Not  strangers,  but  kin 
dred,  saved  by  the  same  blood,  reaping  the  same  promises, 
tempted  in  all  things,  even  as  was  He  who  suffered  all 
that  we  might  follow  him.  "  Be  ye  all  things  to  all  men," 


A  Struggle  for  Life.  113 


said  the  Apostle ;  to  whom  this  command  was  doubtless 
plainer  than  to  some  of  his  successors. 

Do  you  think  words  fail  the  man  whose  heart  is  full  to 
bursting  ?  Words  these  were  of  Paul's,  neither  brilliant, 
nor  fine,  nor  profound,  nor  trashy ;  but  very  simple  in 
deed.  And  though  this  young  man  had  satisfactorily 
displayed  his  talents  before  several  cultivated  city  con 
gregations,  this  was  in  truth  the  first  sermon  of  his  which 
went  to  his  own  heart.  Do  you  know  what  Christ  meant 
when  he  said  to  them :  "  Go  ye  and  preach  this  gospel 
to  all  the  nations,  beginning  at  Jerusalem  £  " 

Jehoram  Baker,  the  callous  Yankee  pedagogue,  who 
could  stand  more  hard  preaching  than  any  man  I  ever 
knew,  was  cheated  of  his  customary  nap  that  morning. 
The  people  were  very  much  surprised.  They  didn't 
quite  understand  it.  That  is  to  say — they  did.  When 
Paul  came  among  them  after  service  it  was  not  as  "  the 
new  minister,"  but  as  an  old  friend.  He  needed  no  in 
troduction  to  men  and  women  whose  hearts  he  had 
touched  so  nearly.  He  was  one  of  themselves :  no  fine 
city  gentleman  come  to  teach  rough  Hoosiers  what  they 
knew  perhaps  better  than  he ;  nor  any  rude  soldier  of 
the  Cross,  so  overwhelming  them  with  the  thunder  of  his 
Gospel  artillery  as  to  leave  no  hearing  for  the  soft  loving 
voice  of  the  great  Captain  of  our  salvation,  who  wills  not 
the  death  of  sinners — and  surely  never  wished  to  see  them 
damned  before  they  were  dead.  Nor,  lastly,  was  he,  to 
their  conception,  any  theological  mummy,  stiff  with  the 
wrappings  of  old  formulas,  and  with  dry  husks  where 
live  men  keep  their  hearts. 


H4  A  Struggle  for  Life. 


Only  a  gentleman. 

I  hope  you  will  not  ask  to  me  to  say  "  Christian  gentle 
man  ; "  because  then  I  shall  think  you  don't  know  what 
it  is  to  be  a  gentleman — or  a  Christian. 

And  do  you  think  a  gentleman  can  not  prevail  with 
such  plain  folk  as  these  without  bluster,  and  casting  away 
his  own  true  nature?  Does  not  the  greater  contain  the 
less?  And  who  told  you  that  this  old  Hoosier  farmer, 
in  cowhide  boots  and  homespun  clothes,  slow  of  speech 
and  awkward  in  manner,  is  not  the  truest  gentleman  God 
ever  made  ? 

IV. 

"Father*  says  you  must  come  home  with  us,"  said  Mi 
randa  Leighton,  pointing  to  where  " Father"  stood  be 
fore  the  meeting-house  door  holding  the  mare,  who  was 
restive  for  her  dinner.  There  were  invitations  a  plenty 
to  "come  and  stay  with  us;"  but  "Squire  Leighton" 
carried  the  day,  and  bore  off  Paul,  who  found  himself 
presently  in  a  comfortable  farm-house,  where  his  host 
presented  him  in  farmer  fashion : 

"This  is  the  old  lady;  this  is  Miranda;  and  this  is 
John,  my  boy.  I  wish  he  wasn't  such  a  bad  boy.  Make 
yourself  at  home,  and  try  to  like  us  and  our  ways.  They 
ain't  very  fine ;  but  we  mean  what  we  say." 

"  In  what  way  is  John  such  a  bad  fellow  ?  "  Paul 
ventured  to  inquire,  by  way  of  setting  himself  at  ease 
with  that  young  man,  who  looked  at  the  minister  with  a 
certain  degree  of  suspicion,  as  one  of  his  natural  enemies. 

Whereupon  John's  mother  made  sorrowful  confession 


A  Struggle  for  Life.  115 


of  his  tricky  propensities,  of  his  dislike  to  church,  of  his 
fondness  for  other  boys  who  were  just  like  him;  and 
Miranda  completed  the  display  of  John's  utter  depravity 
by  relating  the  incident  of  the  cat. 

At  which  the  Keverend  Paul  laughed  so  heartily  that 
even  glum  John  ventured  on  a  smile,  and  Miranda  had 
her  fun  all  over  again. 

When  dinner  was  over,  and  while  the  old  folks  smoked 
their  pipes,  Paul  persuaded  John  to  show  him  over  the 
farm ;  the  consequence  of  which  showing  was  that  John 
returned  to  Miranda  with  a  puzzled  look,  and  the  remark 
that  "  that  thar  minister  warn't  a  bit  like  any  other  he 
ever  saw." 

"  Why,  Sis,"  said  the  poor  fellow,  "he  laughs  just  like 
other  people ;  and  made  me  tell  him  about  every  thing 
on  the  place.  And  he  likes  fishing,  and  I'm  going  to 
show  him  the  creek.  And  he  didn't  know  what  a  har 
row  was  till  I  told  him,"  added  John,  with  a  chuckle, 
"  and  I'm  to  show  him  how  to  plough." 

" So  you  think  he'll  do?"  queried  Miranda,  quietly. 

"  I  dunno  yet,"  said  John,  resuming  his  cautious  look ; 
"I  dunno  yet— but  I  think." 

Having  won  over  John,  Paul's  fame  soon  went  through 
all  the  country-side ;  and  as  he  proved  himself  a  tolerable 
shot,  a  good  fisherman,  and  a  sensible  fellow  generally, 
"  the  boys,"  who  had  been  so  long  the  plague  of  Shott- 
over  meeting-house,  presently  made  him  their  honored 
captain,  without  whose  presence  or  countenance  no  fun 
could  prosper,  while  they  delighted  to  be  for  him  a 
guard,  sometimes  more  zealous  than  wise. 


n6  A  Struggle  for  Life. 


But  what  avails  to  recount  at  length  the  peaceful  tri 
umphs  of  the  Eeverend  Paul  Clifton?  His  first  victory 
decided  the  campaign ;  and  he  surprised  the  brethren  at 
the  next  annual  Conference  meeting  by  requesting — un 
less  some  one  else  wished  the  place — to  be  "continued" 
in  Shottover  another  year. 

"What  Paul  Clifton  could  have  found  in  Shottover?" 
was  a  question  which  puzzled  every  body  but  Paul  Clif 
ton  himself,  till  one  day — 

— Fair,  and  gentle,  and  dearly-beloved  reader,  you 
guessed  it  long  ago,  didn't  you  ?  And  I  am  not  such  an 
ungrateful  boor  as  to  disappoint  you — 

— till  one  day  the  bishop  was  invited  to  dedicate  a  new 
meeting-house  in  Shottover ;  and  this  done,  was  request 
ed  to  "unite  in  the  holy  bonds  of  matrimony" — which 
bonds  they  bear  lightly  to  this  day — 

THE  KEVEKEND  PAUL  CLIFTON 

AND 

MISS  MIKANDA  LEIGHTON. 

John  was  present,  in  a  great  state  of  mind  and  shirt- 
collar,  and  after  the  ceremony  was  over,  and  the  compa 
ny  had  adjourned,  privately  bestowed  his  blessing  on 
Miranda,  declaring  that  "  she'd  got  the  best  feller  that 
ever  lived  for  a  husband,  ef  he  was  a  preacher." 


ELKANAH  BREWSTER'S  TEMPTATION. 


ELKANAH  BREWSTEKS  TEMPTATION. 


T  AM  of  opinion  that  the  fruit  forbidden  to  our  grand 
mother  Eve  was  an  unripe  apple.  Eaten,  it  afflicted 
Adam  with  a  kind  of  jSsXtrjx?  in  fact,  the  first  colic  known 
to  this  planet.  He,  the  weaker  vessel,  sorrowed  over  his 
transgression;  but  I  doubt  if  Eve's  repentance  was 
thorough ;  for  the  plucking  of  unripe  fruit  has  been,  ever 
since,  a  favorite  hobby  of  her  sons  and  daughters,  until 
now  our  mankind  has  got  itself  into  such  a  chronic  state 
of  colic,  that  even  Dr.  Carlyle  declares  himself  unable  to 
prescribe  any  Morrison's  Pill  or  other  remedial  measure 
to  allay  the  irritation. 

Part  of  this  irritation  finds  vent  in  a  great  cry  about 
"  legitimate  ambition."  Somehow,  because  any  American 
may  be  President  of  the  United  States,  almost  every 
American  feels  himself  bound  to  run  for  the  office.  A 
man  thinks  small  things  of  himself,  and  his  neighbors 
think  less,  if  he  does  not  find  his  heart  filled  with  an  in 
sane  desire,  in  some  way,  to  attain  to  fame  or  notoriety, 
riches  or  bankruptcy*  Nevertheless,  we  are  not  purse- 
proud,  nor,  indeed,  proud  at  all,  more  's  the  pity,  and  re- 


I2O  Elkanah  JBrewster's  Temptation. 


ceive  a  man  just  as  readily  whose  sands  of  life  have  been 
doled  out  to  suffering  humanity  in  the  shape  of  patent 
pills,  as  one  who  has  entered  Fifth  Avenue  by  the  legit 
imate  way  of  pork  and  cotton  speculations,  if  only  he  have 
been  successful,  which  I  call  a  very  noble  trait  in  the 
American  character. 

Now  this  is  all  very  well,  and,  granted  that  Providence 
has  placed  us  here  to  do  what  is  best  pleasing  to  our 
selves,  it  is  surely  very  noble  and  grand  in  us  to  please 
to  serve  nothing  less  than  our  country  or  our  age.  But 
let  us  not  forget  that  the  English  language  has  such  a 
little  word  as  duty.  A  man's  talents,  and,  perhaps,  once 
in  a  great  while,  his  wishes,  would  make  him  a  great  man, 
if  wishes  ever  did  such  things,  which  I  doubt,  while 
duty  imperatively  demands  that  he  shall  remain  a  little 
man.  What  then  ? 

Elkanah  Brewster  was  going  to  New  York  to-mor 
row. 

"What  for,  boy  ?  "  asked  old  Uncle  Shubael,  meeting 
whom  on  the  fish-wharf,  he  had  bid  him  a  cheery  good 
bye. 

"  To  make  my  fortune,"  was  the  bold  reply. 

"Make  yer  fortin?  You'm  a  goose,  boy!  Stick  to 
yer  work  here.  Fishin'  summers  an'  shoe-makin'  winters 
— why,  there  isn't  a  young  feller  on  the  hull  Cape  makes 
as  much  as  you.  What's  up  ?  Gal  gin  ye  the  mitten  ? 
Or  what?" 

"I  don't  want  to  make  shoes,  nor  fish  nuther,  Uncle 
Shub,"  said  Elkanah,  soberly,  looking  the  old  fellow  in 
the  face — "goin'  down  to  the  Banks  year  arter  year  in 


Elkanah  JBrewster's  Temptation.  121 


cold  an'  fish-gurry,  an'  peggin'  away  all  winter  like  mad. 
I  want  to  be  rich,  like  Captain  Crowell ;  I  want  to  be  a 
gentleman,  like  that  painter-chap  that  gin  me  drawin'- 
lessons,  last  summer,  when  I  stayed  to  home." 

"  Phew !  Want  to  be  rich  an'  a  gentleman,  eh  ?  Git- 
tin'  tu  big  for  yer  boots,  youngster?  What's  yer  old 
man  du  but  go  down  t'  the  Banks  reg'lar  every  spring  ? 
You'm  no  better  'n  he,  I  guess!  Keep  yer  trade,  an' 
yer  trade  '11  keep  you.  A  rollin'  stun  gethers  no  moss. 
Dry  bread  tu  home's  better  'n  roast  meat  an'  gravy 
abroad.'7 

"  All  feet  don't  tread  in  one  shoe,  Uncle  Shub,"  said 
young  Brewster,  capping  the  old  fellow's  proverbs  with 
another.  "  Don't  see  why  I  shouldn't  make  money  's 
well's  other  fellers.  It's  a  free  country,  an'  if  a  feller 
wants  to  try  suthin7  else  'sides  fishin'  uv  it,  what  d'yer 
all  want  to  be  down  on  him  fur  ?  I  don't  want  to  slave 
all  my  days,  when  other  folks  ken  live  in  big  houses  an' 
ride  in  'kerriges,  an'  all  that." 

"  A'n't  ye  got  bread  enough  to  eat,  an'  a  place  to  sleep  ? 
an'  what  more's  any  on  'em  got  ?  You  stay  here ;  make 
yer  money  on  the  old  Cape,  where  yer  father  an'  grand- 
'ther  made  it  afore  you.  Use  yer  means,  an'  God  '11  give 
the  blessin'.  Yer  can't  honestly  git  rich  anywheres  all 
tu  once.  Good  an'  quickly  don't  often  meet.  One  nail 
drives  out  another.  Slow  an'  easy  goes  fur  in  a  day. 
Honor  an'  ease  a'n't  often  bed-fellows.  Don't  ye  be  a 
goose,  I  tell  ye.  What's  to  become  o'  Hepsy  Ann  ?  " 

Having  delivered  himself  of  which  last  and  hardest 
shot,  Uncle  Shubael  shouldered  his  cod-craft,  and,  with- 

F 


122  Elkanah  Brewster's  Temptation. 


out  awaiting  an  answer,  tugged  across  the  sand-beach 
for  home. 

Elkanah  Brewster  was  a  Cape-Cod  boy,  with  a  pedi 
gree,  if  he  had  ever  thought  of  it,  as  long  as  any  on  the 
Cape,  and  they  are  the  longest  in  the  land.  His  fore 
fathers  had  caught  fish  to  the  remotest  generation  known. 
The  Cape  boys  take  to  the  water  like  young  ducks ;  and 
are  born  with  a  hook  and  line  in  their  fists,  so  to  speak, 
as  the  Newfoundland  codfish  and  Bay  Chaleur  mackerel 
know  to  their  cost.  "Down  on  old  Chatham"  there  is 
little  question  of  a  boy's  calling,  if  he  only  comes  into 
the  world  with  the  proper  number  of  fingers  and  toes ; 
he  swims  as  soon  as  he  walks,  knows  how  to  drive  a  bar 
gain  as  soon  as  he  can  talk,  goes  cook  of  a  coaster  at  the 
mature  age  of  nine  years,  and  thinks  himself  robbed  of 
his  birthright  if  he  has  not  made  a  voyage  to  the  Banks 
before  his  eleventh  birthday  comes  round.  There  is 
good  stuff  in  the  Cape  boys,  as  the  South  Street  ship 
owners  know,  who  don't  sleep  easier  than  when  they 
have  put  a  Cape  man  in  charge  of  their  best  clipper. 
Quick  of  apprehension,  fertile  in  resource,  shrewd,  enter 
prising,  brave,  prudent,  and,  above  all,  lucky,  no  better 
seamen  sail  the  sea. 

They  are  not  rich  on  the  Cape,  in  the  "Wall  Street 
sense  of  the  word,  that  is  to  say.  I  doubt  if  Uncle  Lew 
Baker,  who  was  high  line  out  of  Dennis  last  year,  and 
who,  by  the  same  token,  had  to  work  himself  right 
smartly  to  achieve  that  honor — I  doubt  if  this  smart  and 
thoroughly  wide-awake  fellow  took  home  more  than 
three  hundred  dollars  to  his  wife  and  children  when  old 


Elkanah  BrewsteSs  Temptation.  123 


Obed  settled  the  voyage.  But  then  the  good  wife  saves 
while  he  earns,  and,  what  with  a  cow,  and  a  house  and 
garden-spot  of  his  own,  and  a  healthy  lot  of  boys  and 
girls,  who,  if  too  young  to  help,  are  not  suffered  to  hin 
der,  this  man  is  more  forehanded  and  independent,  gives 
more  to  the  poor  about  him  and  to  the  heathen  at  the 
other  end  of  the  world,  than  many  a  city  man  who 
makes  and  spends  his  tens  of  thousands. 

Uncle  Abijah  Brewster,  the  father  of  this  Elkanah, 
was  an  old  Banker,  which  signifies  here,  not  a  Wall 
Street  broker-man,  but  a  Grand  Bank  fisherman.  He 
had  brought  up  a  goodly  family  of  boys  and  girls  by  his 
hook-and-line,  and,  though  now  a  man  of  some  fifty  win 
ters,  still  made  his  two  yearly  "fares"  to  the  Banks,  in 
his  own  trim  little  pinky,  and  prided  himself  on  being 
the  smartest  and  jolliest  man  aboard.  His  boys  had  sail 
ed  with  him  till  they  got  vessels  of  their  own,  had  learn 
ed  from  his  stout  heart  and  strong  arm  their  seamanship, 
their  fisherman's  acuteness,  their  honest  daring,  and 
child-like  trust  in  God's  providence.  These  poor  fisher 
men  are  not  rich,  as  I  have  said ;  a  dollar  looks  to  them 
as  big  as  a  dinner-plate  to  some  of  us,  and  a  moderately 
flush  "Wall  Street  man  might  buy  out  half  the  Cape 
and  not  overdraw  his  bank  account.  Also  they  have 
but  little  book-learning  among  them,  reading  chiefly 
their  Bible,  Bowditch,  and  Nautical  Almanac,  and  leav 
ing  theology  mostly  to  the  parson  on  shore,  who  is  paid 
for  it.  But  they  have  a  conscience,  and,  knowing  a 
thing  to  be  right,  do  it  bravely,  and  against  all  odds.  I 
have  seen  these  men  on  Sunday,  in  a  fleet  of  busy  "  Sun- 


124  Elkanah  Brewster's  Temptation. 


day  fishers,"  fish  biting  all  around  them,  sitting  faithful 
ly,  ay,  and  contentedly,  with  book  in  hand,  sturdily  re 
fraining  from  what  the  mere  human  instinct  of  destruc 
tion  would  strongly  impel  them  to,  without  counting  the 
temptation  of  dollars ;  and  this  only  because  they  had 
been  taught  that  Sunday  was  a  day  of  rest  and  worship, 
wherein  no  man  should  catch  fish,  and  they  knew  no 
theological  quibble  or  mercantile  close-sailing  by  which 
to  weather  on  God's  command.  It  sounds  little  to  us 
who  have  not  been  tempted,  or,  if  tempted,  have  grace 
fully  succumbed  on  the  plea  that  other  people  do  so  too ; 
but  how  many  stock-speculators  would  see  their  fellows 
buying  bargains  and  making  easy  fortunes  on  Sunday 
morning,  and  not  forget  the  ring  of  Trinity  chimes  and 
go  in  for  dollars  ?  Or  which  of  us  denies  himself  his 
Monday  morning's  paper? 

Elkanah  had  always  been  what  his  mother  called  a 
strange  boy.  He  was,  indeed,  an  odd  sheep  in  her  flock. 
Restless,  ambitious,  dreamy,  from  his  earliest  youth,  he 
possessed,  besides,  a  natural  gift  for  drawing  and  sketch 
ing,  imitating  and  constructing,  that  bade  fair,  unless 
properly  directed,  to  make  of  him  that  saddest  and  most 
useless  of  human  lumber,  a  jack-at-all-trades.  He  profit 
ed  more  by  his  limited  winter's  schooling  than  his  broth 
ers  and  fellows,  and  was  always  respected  by  the  old  man 
as  "a  boy  that  took  naterally  to  book-larnin',  and 
would  be  suthin'  some  day."  Of  course  he  went  to  the 
Banks,  and  acquitted  himself  there  with  honor,  no  man 
fishing  more  zealously  or  having  better  luck.  But  all 
the  time  he  was  dreaming  of  his  future,  counting  this 


Elkanah  JSrewster's  Temptation.  125 


present  as  nothing,  and  ready,  as  soon  as  Fortune  should 
make  him  an  opening,  to  cast  away  this  life,  and  grasp — 
he  had  not  settled  what. 

"I  dun  know  what  ails  him,"  said  his  father;  "but 
he  don't  take  kindly  to  the  Banks.  Seems  to  me  he 
kinder  despises  the  work,  though  he  does  it  well  enough. 
And  then  he  makes  the  best  shoes  on  the  Cape ;  but  he 
a'n't  content,  somehow." 

And  that  was  just  it.  He  was  not  contented.  He 
had  seen  men — "no  better  than  I,"  thought  he,  poor 
fool! — in  Boston,  living  in  big  houses,  wearing  fine 
clothes,  putting  fair,  soft  hands  into  smooth-fitting  kid 
gloves;  "  and  why  not  I?"  he  cried  to  himself  continu 
ally.  Year  by  year,  from  his  seventeenth  to  his  twenty- 
first,  he  was  pursued  by  this  demon  of  "ambition," 
which  so  took  possession  of  his  heart  as  to  crowd  out 
nearly  every  thing  else,  father,  mother,  work,  even  pretty 
Hepzibah  Nickerson,  almost,  who  loved  him,  and  whom 
he  also  loved  truly.  They  had  grown  up  together,  had 
long  loved  each  other,  and  had  been  now  two  years  be 
trothed.  When  Elkanah  was  "  out  of  his  time  "  and  able 
to  buy  a  share  in  a  vessel,  and  had  made  a  voyage  to  the 
Banks  as  captain,  they  were  to  be  married. 

The  summer  before  this  spring  in  which  our  story 
opens,  Elkanah  had  stayed  at  home  for  two  months,  be 
cause  of  a  rheumatism  contracted  by  unusual  exposure 
on  the  Banks  in  early  spring ;  and  at  this  time  he  made 
the  acquaintance  of  Mr.  James  Graves,  K.A.,  from  New 
York,  spending  part  of  his  summer  on  the  Cape  in 
search  of  the  picturesque,  which  I  hope  he  found.  El- 


126  Elkanah  Brew  sterns  Temptation. 


kanah  had,  as  I  have  said,  a  natural  talent  for  drawing, 
and  some  of  his  sketches  had  that  in  them  which  elicited 
the  approval  of  Graves,  who  saw  in  the  young  fellow  an 
untutored  genius,  or,  at  least,  very  considerable  promise 
of  future  excellence.  To  him  there  could  be  but  one 
choice  between  shoe-making  and  "Art;"  and  finding 
that  young  Brewster  made  rapid  advances  under  his 
desultory  tuition,  he  told  him  his  thoughts:  that  he 
should  not  waste  himself  making  sea-boots  for  fishermen, 
but  enter  a  studio  in  Boston  or  New  York,  and  make 
his  career  as  a  painter.  It  scarcely  needed  this,  how 
ever  ;  for  Elkanah  took  such  delight  in  his  new  profi 
ciency,  and  got  from  Graves's  stories  of  artist  life  such 
exalted  ideas  of  the  unalloyed  felicity  of  the  gentleman 
of  the  brush,  that,  even  had  the  painter  said  no  word,  he 
would  have  worked  out  that  way  himself. 

"  Only  wait  till  next  year,  when  I'm  out  of  my  time," 
said  he  to  Graves ;  and  to  himself — "  This  is  the  opening 
for  which  I  have  been  waiting." 

That  winter,  "my  last  at  shoe-making,"  he  worked 
more  diligently  than  ever  before,  and  more  good-natured 
ly.  Uncle  Abijah  was  delighted  at  the  change  in  his 
boy,  and  promised  him  great  things  in  the  way  of  a  lift 
next  year,  to  help  him  to  a  speedy  wedding.  Elkanah 
kept  his  own  counsel,  read  much  in  certain  books  which 
Graves  had  left  him,  and  looked  impatiently  ahead  to 
the  day  when,  twenty-one  years  of  age,  he  should  be  a 
free  man,  able  to  go  whither  he  listed  and  do  what  he 
would,  with  no  man  authoritatively  to  say  him  nay. 

And  now  the  day  had  come;  and  with  I  don't  know 


Elka?iah  Brewster*s  Temptation.  127 


how  few  dollars  in  his  pocket,  his  scant  earnings,  he  had 
declared  to  his  astounded  parents  his  determination  to 
fish  and  shoe-make  no  longer,  but  to  learn  to  be  a  painter. 

"  A  great  painter,'1  that  was  what  he  said. 

"  I  don't  see  no  use  o'  paintin'  pic.ters,  for  my  part," 
said  the  old  man,  despairingly ;  "  can't  you  larn  that,  an' 
fishtu?" 

"  Famous  and  rich  too,"  said  Elkanah  half  to  himself, 
looking  through  the  vista  of  years  at  the  result  he  hoped 
for,  and  congratulating  himself  in  advance  upon  it ;  and 
a  proud,  hard  look  settled  in  his  eye,  which  froze  the  op 
position  of  father  and  mother,  and  was  hardly  dimmed 
by  encountering  the  grieved  glance  of  poor  Hepsy  Ann 
Nickerson. 

Poor  Hepsy  Ann !  They  had  talked  it  all  over,  time 
and  again.  At  first  she  was  in  despair;  but  when  he 
laid  before  her  all  his  darling  hopes,  and  painted  for  her 
in  such  glowing  colors  the  final  reward  which  should 
come  to  him  and  her  in  return  for  his  struggles,  when 
she  saw  him,  her  love  and  pride,  before  her  already  trans 
figured  by  this  rare  triumph,  clothed  with  honors,  his  name 
in  all  mouths — dear,  loving  soul,  her  heart  consented, 
"  ay,  if  it  should  break  meantime,^  thought  she,  as  she 
looked  proudly  on  him  through  her  tears,  and  said,  "  Go, 
in  God's  name,  and  God  be  with  you !  " 

II. 

Perhaps  we  mi^ht  properly  here  consider  a  little 
whether  this  young  man  did  well  thus  to  leave  father, 


128  Elkanah  Brewster's  Temptation. 


mother,  home,  his  promised  bride,  sufficient  bread-and- 
butter,  healthy  occupation,  all,  to  attempt  life  in  a  new 
direction.  Of  course,  your  man  who  lives  by  bread  alone 
will  "pooh!  pooh!"  all  such  folly-,  and  tell  the  young 
man  to  let  well  enough  alone.  But  consider  candidly, 
and  decide:  Should  Elkanah  have  gone  to  New  York? 

On  the  whole,  I  think,  yes.     For : — 

He  had  a  certain  talent,  and  gave  fair  promise  of  ex 
cellence  in  his  chosen  profession. 

He  liked  it,  felt  strongly  impelled  toward  it.  Let  us 
not  yet  scrutinize  too  closely  the  main  impelling  forces. 
Few  human  actions  originate  solely  in  what  we  try  to 
think  the  most  exalted  motives. 

He  would  have  been  discontented  for  life,  had  he  not 
had  his  way.  And  this  should  count  for  something;  for 
much,  indeed.  Give  our  boys  liberty  to  try  that  to  which 
their  nature  or  fancy  strongly  drives  them ;  to  burn  their 
fingers,  if  that  seem  best. 

Let  him  go,  then ;  and  God  be  with  him !  as  surely 
He  will  be,  if  the  simple,  faithful  prayers  of  fair,  sad 
Hepsy  Ann  are  heard.  Thus  will  he,  thus  only  can  any, 
solve  that  sphinx-riddle  of  life  which  is  propounded  to 
each  passer  to-day,  as  of  old  in  fable-lands ;  failing  to  read 
which,  he  dies  the  death  of  rusting  discontent;  solving 
whose  mysteries,  he  has  revealed  to  him  the  deep  secret 
of  his  life,  and  sees  and  knows  what  best  he  may  do  here 
for  himself  and  the  world. 

But  what,  where,  who,  is  Elkanah  Brewster's  world  ? 

While  we  stand  reasoning,  he  has  gone.  In  New  York, 
his  friend  Graves  assisted  him  to  a  place  in  the  studio  of 


Elkanah  Brewster's  Temptation.  129 


an  artist,  whose  own  works  have  proved,  no  less  than 
those  of  many  who  have  gathered  their  most  precious 
lessons  from  him,  that  he  is  truly  a  master  of  his  art. 
But  what  are  masters,  teachers,  to  a  scholar?  It's  very 
fine  boarding  at  the  Spread-Eagle  Hotel ;  but  even  after 
you  have  fee'd  the  waiter,  you  have  to  chew  your  own 
dinner,  and  are  benefited,  not  by  the  amount  you  pay  for 
it,  but  only  by  so  much  of  all  that  with  which  the  boun 
teous  table  is  covered  as  you  can  thoroughly  masticate, 
easily  contain,  and  healthily  digest. 

Elkanah  began  with  the  soup,  so  to  speak.  He  brought 
all  his  Cape-Cod  acuteness  of  observation  to  bear  on  his 
profession ;  lived  closely,  as  well  he  might ;  studied  at 
tentively  and  intelligently;  lost  no  hints,  no  precious 
morsels  dropping  from  the  master's  board;  improved 
slowly,  but  surely.  Day  by  day  he  gained  in  that  facili 
ty  of  hand,  quickness  of  observation,  accuracy  of  memory, 
correctness  of  judgment,  patience  of  detail,  felicity  of 
touch,  which,  united  and  perfected  and  honestly  directed, 
we  call  genius.  He  was  above  no  drudgery,  shirked  no 
difficulties,  and  labored  at  the  insignificant  sketch  in 
hand  to-day  as  though  it  were  indeed  his  master-piece, 
to  be  hung  up  beside  Eaphael's  and  Titian's ;  meantime, 
keeping  up  poor  Hepsy  Ann's  heart  by  letters  full  of  a 
hope  bred  of  his  own  brave  spirit,  rather  than  of  any  fa 
voring  circumstances  in  his  life,  and  gaining  his  scant 
bread-and-butter  by  various  honest  drudgeries  which  I 
will  not  here  recount. 

So  passed  away  three  years ;  for  the  growth  of  a  poor 
young  artist  in  public  favor,  and  that  thing  called  fame, 

F2 


130  Elkanah  Brewster's  Temptation. 


is  fearfully  slow.  Oftenest  lie  has  achieved  his  best  when 
the  first  critic  speaks  kindly  or  savagely  of  him.  "What, 
indeed,  at  best,  do  those  blind  leaders,  but  zealously  echo 
a  sentiment  already  in  the  public  heart,  which  they  vain 
ly  endeavor  to  create  (out  of  nothing)  by  any  awe-in 
spiring  formula  of  big  words  ? 

Men  grow  so  slowly !  But  then  so  do  oaks ;  and  little 
matter,  so  the  growth  be  straight. 

Meantime  Elkanah  was  getting,  slowly  and  by  hardest 
labor,  to  have  some  true  conception .  of  his  art  and  his 
aims.  He  became  less  and  less  satisfied  with  his  own 
performances ;  and,  having  with  much  pains  and  anxious 
prayers  finished  his  first  picture  for  the  Academy,  care 
fully  hid  it  under  the  bed,  and  for  that  year  played  the 
part  of  independent  critic  at  the  Exhibition.  Where- 
from  resulted  some  increase  of  knowledge,  though  chiefly 
negative. 

For  what  positive  lesson  is  taught  to  any  by  that  year 
ly  show  of  what  we  flatter  ourselves  by  calling  Art? 
Eight  hundred  and  fifteen  new  paintings  this  year,  shown 
by  no  less  than  two  hundred  and  eighty-one  painters. 
When  you  have  gone  patiently  through  and  looked  at 
every  picture,  see  if  you  don't  wish  the  critics  had  eyes, 
and  a  little  common  sense,  too.  How  many  of  these  two 
hundred  and  eighty-one,  if  they  live  to  be  a  hundred, 
will  ever  solve  their  great  riddle  ?  and  once  solved,  how 
many  would  honestly  go  back  to  shoe-making  ? 

Why  should  they  not  paint  ?  Because,  unless  some 
of  them  are  poorer  men  than  I  think,  that  is  not  the 
thing  they  are  like  to  do  best;  and  a  man  is  put  into 


Elkanah  Brewster's  Temptation.  131 


this  world,  not  to  do  what  he  may  think  or  hope  will 
most  speedily  or  effectually  place  him  in  the  list  of  this 
world's  illustrious  benefactors,  but  honestly  and  against 
all  devilish  temptations  to  stick  to  that  thing  by  which 
he  can  best  serve  and  bless — 

"Whom?    A  city?    A  state?     A  republic?     A  king? 

No,  but  that  person  who  is  nearest  to,  and  most  de 
pendent  upon  him.  Look  at  Charles  Lamb — and  then 
at  Byron  and  Shelley. 

The  growth  of  a  poor  young  artist  into  public  favor  is 
slow  enough.  But  even  poor  young  artists  have  their 
temptations.  When  Elkanah  hung  his  first  picture  in 
the  Academy  rooms,  he  thought  the  world  must  feel  the 
acquisition.  Now  the  world  is  a  notoriously  stupid 
world,  and  never  does  its  duty;  but  kind  woman  not 
seldom  supplies  its  omissions.  So  it  happened,  that, 
though  the  world  cared  nothing  about  the  picture,  El 
kanah  became  at  once  the  centre  of  admiration  to  a  co 
terie  of  young  ladies,  who  thought  they  were  appreciat 
ing  Art  when  they  flattered  an  artist,  and  who,  when 
they  read  in  the  papers  the  gratifying  intelligence,  in 
vented  by  some  sanguine  critic,  over  a  small  bottle  of 
Champagne  cider,  that  the  American  people  are  rapidly 
growing  in  true  love  for  the  fine  arts,  blushingly  owned 
to  themselves  that  their  virtuous  labors  in  this  direction 
were  not  going  unrewarded. 

Have  you  never  seen  them  in  the  Academy,  these 
dear  young  ladies,  who  are  so  constantly  foreseeing  new 
Eaphaels,  Claudes,  and  Kembrandts  ?  Positively,  in  this 
year's  Exhibition  they  are  better  worth  study  than  the 


132  Elkanah  JBrewster's  Temptation. 


paintings.  There  they  run,  up  and  down,  critical  or  en- 
thusiastical,  as  the  humor  strikes :  Laura,  with  big  blue 
eyes  and  a  loud  voice,  pitying  Isidora  because  she  "  has 
never  met"  that  dear  Mr.  Herkimer,  who  paints  such 
delicious,  dreamy  landscapes  ;  and  Emily  dragging  every 
body  off  to  see  Mr.  Smith's  great  work,  "  The  Boy  and 
the  Windmill,"  which,  so  surprising  is  his  facility,  he  act 
ually  painted  in  less  than  twelve  days,  and  which  "  prom 
ises  so  much  for  his  success  and  the  future  of  Ameri 
can  Art,"  says  this  sage  young  critic,  out  of  whose  gray 
eyes  look  the  garnered  experiences  of  almost  eighteen 
summers. 

Whoever  desiderates  cheap  praise,  let  him  cultivate  a 
beard  and  a  sleepy  look,  and  hang  a  picture  in  the  Acad 
emy  rooms.  Elkanah  received  it,  you  may  be  sure.  It 
was  thought  so  romantic,  that  he,  a  fisherman  —  the 
young  ladies  sunk  the  shoe-maker,  I  believe — should  be 
so  devoted  to  Art.  How  splendidly  it  spoke  for  our 
civilization,  when  even  sailors  left  their  vessels,  and,  ab 
juring  codfish,  took  to  canvas  and  brushes!  What  ad 
mirable  courage  in  him,  to  come  here  and'  endeavor  to 
work  his  way  up  from  the  very  bottom !  What  praise 
worthy  self-denial, — "No!  !  is  it  really  so?"  cried  Miss 
Jennie, — when  he  had  left  behind  him  a  fair  young 
bride ! 

It  was  as  though  it  had  been  written,  "  Blessed  is  he 
who  forsaketh  father,  mother,  and  wife  to  paint  pictures." 

But  it  is  not  so  written. 

It  was  as  if  the  true  aim  and  glory  of  every  man  in  a 
civilized  community  should  be  to  paint  pictures.  Which 


Elkanah  Brewster's  Temptation.  133 


has  this  grain  of  truth  in  it,  that,  in  the  highest  form  of 
human  development,  I  believe  every  man  will  be  at 
heart  an  artist.  But  then  we  shall  be  past  picture-paint 
ing  and  exhibitions.  Don't  you  see,  that,  if  the  fruit  be 
thoroughly  ripe,  it  needs  no  violent  plucking?  or  that, 
if  a  man  is  really  a  painter,  he  will  paint,  ay,  though  he 
were  ten  times  a  shoe-maker,  and  could  never,  never 
hope  to  hang  his  pictures  on  the  Academy  walls,  to  win 
cheap  wonder  from  boarding-school  misses,  or  just  regard 
from  judicious  critics  ? 

Elkanah  Brewster  came  to  New  York  to  make  his  ca 
reer,  to  win  nothing  less  than  fame  and  fortune.  When 
he  had  struggled  through  five  years  of  Art-study,  and 
was  now  just  beginning  to  earn  a  little  money,  he  began 
also  to  think  that  he  had  somehow  counted  his  chickens 
before  they  were  hatched,  perhaps,  indeed,  before  the 
eggs  were  laid.  "Good  and  quickly  come  seldom  to 
gether,"  said  old  Uncle  Shubael.  But  then  a  man  who 
has  courage  commonly  has  also  endurance ;  and  Elkanah, 
ardently  pursuing  from  love  now  what  he  had  first  been 
prompted  to  by  ambition,  did  not  murmur  nor  despair. 
For,  indeed,  I  must  own  that  this  young  fellow  had 
worked  up  to  the  highest  and  truest  conception  of  his 
art,  and  felt,  that,  though  the  laborer  is  worthy  of  his 
hire,  unhappy  is  the  man  who  lowers  his  art  to  the  level 
of  a  trade.  In  olden  times,  the  priests  did,  indeed,  eat 
of  the  sacrificial  meat;  but  we  live  under  a  new  and 
higher  dispensation. 


134  Elkanah  Br cluster's  Temptation. 


III. 

MEANTIME,  what  of  Hepsy  Ann  Nickerson  ?  She  had 
bravely  sent  her  hero  out,  with  her  blessing  on  his  aspi 
rations.  Did  she  regret  her  love  and  trust?  I  am 
ashamed  to  say  that  these  five  long,  weary  years-  had 
passed  happily  to  this  young  woman.  She  had  her 
hands  full  of  work  at  home,  where  she  reigned  over  a 
family  of  brothers  and  sisters,  vice  her  mother,  promoted. 
Hands  busied  with  useful  toils,  head  and  heart  filled  with 
love  and  trust  of  Elkanah,  there  was  no  room  for  unhap- 
piness.  To  serve  and  to  be  loved :  this  seems,  indeed, 
to  be  the  bliss  of  the  happiest  women  I  have  known — 
and  of  the  happiest  men,  too,  for  that  matter.  It  does 
not  sound  logical,  and  I  know  of  no  theory  of  woman's 
rights  which  will  satisfactorily  account  for  the  phenome 
non.  But  then,  there  are  the  facts. 

A  Cape  household  is  a  simpler  affair  than  you  will 
meet  with  in  the  city.  If  any  young  marrying  man 
waits  for  a  wife  who  can  cook  and  sew,  let  him  go  down 
to  the  Cape.  Captain  Elijah  JSTickerson,  Hepsy  Ann's 
father,  was  master  and  owner  of  the  good  schooner  "  Mi 
randa,"  in  which  excellent  but  rather  strongly-scented  ves 
sel  he  generally  made  yearly  two  trips  to  the  Newfound 
land  Banks,  to  draw  thence  his  regular  income ;  and  it 
is  to  be  remarked,  that  his  drafts,  presented  in  person, 
were  never  dishonored  in  that  foggy  region.  Uncle  Eli 
jah — they  are  all  uncles,  on  the  Cape,  when  they  marry 


Elkanah  BrewsteSs  Temptation.  135 


and  have  children,  and  boys  until  then — Uncle  Elijah,  I 
say,  was  not  uncomfortably  off,  as  things  go  in  those 
parts.  The  year  before  Elkanah  went  to  New  York,  the 
old  fellow  had  built  himself  a  brand-new  house,  and 
Hepsy  Ann  was  looked  up  to  by  her  acquaintance  as 
the  daughter  of  a  man  who  was  not  only  brave  and  hon 
est,  but  also  lucky. 

"  Elijah  Nickerson's  new  house,"  as  it  is  still  called, 
and  will  be,  I  suppose,  until  it  ceases  to  be  a  house,  was 
fitted  up  inside  in  a  way  which  put  you  much  in  mind 
of  a  ship's  cabin,  and  would  have  delighted  the  simple 
heart  of  good  Captain  Cuttle.  There  was  no  spare  space 
anywhere  thrown  away,  nor  any  thing  suffered  to  lie 
loose.  Beckets  and  cleats,  fixed  into  the  walls  of  the  sit 
ting-room,  held  and  secured  against  any  possible  damage 
the  pipes,  fish-lines,  dolphin-grains,  and  sou'westers  of  the 
worthy  Captain ;  and  here  he  and  his  sat,  when  he  was 
at  home,  through  the  long  winter  evenings,  in  simple  and 
not  often  idle  content.  The  kitchen,  flanked  by  the  com 
pendious  outhouses  which  make  our  New  England  kitch 
ens  almost  luxurious  in  the  comfort  and  handiness  of 
every  arrangement,  was  the  centre  of  Hepsy  Ann's  king 
dom,  where  she  reigned  supreme,  and  waged  sternest 
warfare  against  dirt  and  disorder.  Hence  her  despotic 
sway  extended  over  the  pantry,  an  awful  and  fragrant 
sanctuary,  whither  she  fled  when  household  troubles,  or  a 
letter  from  Elkanah,  demanded  her  entire  seclusion  from 
the  outer  world,  and  of  whose  interior  the  children  got 
faint  glimpses  and  sniffs  only  on  special  and  long-re 
membered  occasions ;  the  west  room,  where  her  father 


136  Elkanah  BrewsteSs  Temptation. 


slept  when  he  was  at  home,  and  where  the  curious 
searcher  might  find  store  of  old  compasses,  worn-out  cod- 
hooks,  condemned  gurry-knives,  and  last  year's  fishing- 
mittens,  all  "stowed  away  against  time-o'-need ; "  the 
spare  room,  sacred  to  the  rites  of  hospitality ;  the  "  up 
stairs,"  occupied  by  the  children  and  Hepsy  Ann's  self; 
and  finally,  but  most  important  of  all,  the  parlor,  a  mys 
terious  and  hermetically  sealed  apartment,  which  almost 
seemed  to  me  an  unconsecrated  spot  in  this  little  temple 
of  the  homely  virtues  and  affections — a  room  furnished 
in  a  style  somewhat  ostentatious  and  decidedly  uncom 
fortable,  swept  and  dusted  on  Saturday  afternoons  by 
Hepsy  Ann's  own  careful  hands,  sat  in  by  the  Captain 
and  her  for  an  hour  or  two  on  Sundays  in  awkward 
state,  then  darkened  and  locked  for  the  rest  of  the  week. 
As  for  the  queen  and  mistress  of  so  much  neatness 
and  comfort,  I  must  say,  that,  like  most  queens  whose 
likeness  I  have  seen,  she  was  rather  plain  than  strictly 
beautiful,  though,  no  doubt,  her  loyal  subjects,  as  in 
such  cases  commonly  occurs,  pictured  her  to  themselves 
as  a  very  Helen  of  Troy.  If  her  cheeks  had  something 
of  the  rosy  hue  of  health,  cheeks,  and  arms,  too,  were 
well  tanned  by  frequent  exposure  to  the  sun.  Neither 
tall  nor  short,  but  with  a  lithe  figure,  a  natural  grace  and 
sweet  dignity  of  carriage,  the  result  of  sufficient  healthy 
exercise  and  a  pure,  untroubled  spirit;  hands  and  feet, 
mouth  and  nose,  not  such  as  a  gentleman  would  particu 
larly  notice ;  and  straight  brown  hair,  which  shaded  the 
only  really  beautiful  part  of  Hepsy  Ann's  face,  her 
clear,  honest,  brave  blue  eyes :  eyes  from  which  spoke  a 


Elkanah  Brewster^s  Temptation.  137 


soul  at  peace  with  itself  and  with  the  outward  world,  a 
soul  yet  full  of  love  and  trust,  fearing  nothing,  doubting 
nothing,  believing  much  good,  and  inclined  to  patient 
endurance  of  the  human  weaknesses  it  met  with  in  daily 
life,  as  not  perhaps  altogether  strange  to  itself.  The 
Cape  men  are  a  brave,  hardy  race ;  and  the  Cape  women, 
grave  and  somewhat  silent,  not  demonstrative  in  joy  or 
grief,  reticent  mostly  of  their  anxieties  and  sorrows,  born 
to  endure,  in  separation  from  fathers,  brothers,  lovers, 
husbands,  in  dangers  not  oftener  fancied  than  real,  griefs 
which  more  fortunate  women  find  it  difficult  to  imagine 
— these  Cape  women  are  worthy  mothers  of  brave  men. 
Of  such  our  Hepsy  Ann  was  a  fair  example ;  weaving 
her  somewhat  prosaic  life  into  golden  dreams  in  the  quiet 
light  of  her  pantry  refuge,  happy  chiefly  because  she 
thought  much  and  carefully  for  others  and  had  little 
time  for  self-brooding;  like  most  genuine  heroines,  ex 
cept  those  of  France,  living  an  heroic  life  without  in  the 
least  suspecting  it. 

And  did  she  believe  in  Elkanah  ? 

Utterly. 

And  did  Elkanah  believe  in  himself? 

Yes — but  with  certain  grave  doubts.  Here  is  the  dif 
ference  :  the  woman's  faith  is  intuition ;  the  man  must 
have  a  reason  for  the  faith  that  is  in  him. 

Yet  Elkanah  was  growing.  I  think  a  man  grows  like 
the  walls  of  a  house,  by  distinct  stages :  so  far  the  scaffold 
ing  reaches,  and  then  a  general  stoppage  while  the  outer 
shell  is  raised,  the  ladders  lengthened,  and  the  work 
squared  off.  I  don't  know,  unhappily,  the  common  pro- 


138  Elkanah  Brewster's  Temptation. 


cess  of  growth  of  the  artistic  mind,  and  how  far  the 
light  of  to-day  helps  the  neophyte  to  look  into  the  in 
definite  twilight  of .  to-morrow ;  but  step  by  step  was 
the  slow  rule  of  Elkanah's  mind,  and  he  had  been  now 
five  years  an  artist,  and  was  held  in  no  despicable  repute 
by  those  few  who  could  rightly  judge  of  a  man's  future 
by  his  past,  when  first  it  became  very  clear  to  him  that 
he  had  yet  to  find  his.  specialty  in  Art — that  truth  which 
he  might  better  represent  than  any  other  man. 

Don't  think  five  years  long  to  determine  so  trivial  a 
point.  The  right  man  in  the  right  place  is  still  a  rare 
phenomenon  in  the  world ;  and  some  men  spend  a  life 
time  in  the  consideration  of  this  very  point,  doubtless 
looking  to  take  their  chance  of  real  work  in  the  next 
world.  I  mean  to  say  it  took  Elkanah  just  five  years  to 
discover,  that,  though  he  painted  many  things  fairly,  he 
did  yet  put  his  very  soul  into  none,  and  that,  unless  he 
could  now  presently  find  this,  his  right  place,  he  had, 
perhaps,  better  stop  altogether. 

Elkanah  considered ;  but  he  also  worked  unceasingly, 
feeling  that  the  best  way  to  break  through  a  difficulty  is 
to  pepper  away  at  its  outer  walls. 


IV. 

Now  while  he  was  firing  away  wearily  at  this  fortress, 
which  held,  he  thought,  the  deepest  secret  of  his  life, 
Hepsy  Ann  sat  in  her  pantry,  her  serene  soul  troubled 
with  unwonted  fears.  Captain  Elijah  Nickerson  had  sail 
ed  out  in  his  stanch  schooner  in  earliest  spring,  for  the 


Elkanah  Brewster's  Temptation.  139 


Banks.  The  old  man  had  been  all  winter  meditating  a 
surprise ;  and  his  crew  were  in  unusual  excitement,  peer 
ing  out  at  the  weather,  consulting  almanacs,  prophesying 
to  outsiders  a  late  season,  and  winking  to  each  other  a 
cheerful  disbelief  of  their  own  auguries.  The  fact  is, 
they  were  intending  to  slip  off  before  the  rest,  and  per 
haps  have  half  their  fare  of  fish  caught  before  the  fleet 
got  along. 

No  plan  could  have  succeeded  better,  up  to  a  certain 
point.  Captain  Elijah  got  off  to  sea  full  twelve  days 
earlier  than  any  body  else,  and  was  bowling  merrily 
down  toward  the  eternal  fog-banks  when  his  neighbors 
were  yet  scarce  thinking  of  gathering  up  their  mittens' 
and  sea-boots.  By  the  time  the  last-comers  arrived  on  the 
fishing-ground,  one  who  had  spoken  the  "Miranda" 
some  days  before,  anchored  and  fishing  away,  reported 
that  they  had,  indeed,  nearly  wet  her  salt,  by  which  is 
meant  that  she  was  nearly  filled  with  good,  sound  codfish. 
The  men  were  singing  as  they  dressed  their  fish,  and 
Captain  Elijah,  sitting  high  up  on  the  schooner's  quarter, 
took  his  pipe 'out  of  his  mouth,  and  asked,  as  the  vessel 
rose  on  the  sea,  if  they  had  any  news  to  send  home,  for 
three  days  more  like  that  would  fill  him  up. 

That  was  the  last  word  of  Captain  Elijah  Nickerson's 
ever  heard  by  men  now  living. 

Whether  the  "Miranda"  was  sunk  by  an  iceberg; 
whether  run  down  in  the  dark  and  silent  watches  of  the 
night  by  some  monster  packet  or  swift  hurling  steamer, 
little  recking  the  pale  fisher's  light  feebly  glimmering 
up  from  the  surface  of  the  deep ;  or  whether  they  went 


140  Elkanah  Brewster's  Temptation. 


down  at  their  anchors,  in  the  great  gale  which  set  in  on 
the  third  night,  as  many  brave  men  have  done  before, 
looking  their  fate  steadfastly  in  the  face  for  long  hours, 
and  taking  time  to  bid  each  other  farewell  ere  the  great 
sea  swallowed  them:  the  particulars  of  their  hapless 
fate  no  man  may  know,  till  the  dread  day  when  the  sea 
shall  give  up  its  dead. 

Vainly  poor  Hepsy  Ann  waited  for  the  well-known 
signal  in  the  offing,  daily  walking  to  the  shore,  where 
kind  old  Uncle  Shubael,  now  long  superannuated,  and 
idly  busying  himself  about  the  fish-house,  strove  to  cheer 
her  fainting  soul  by  store  of  well-chosen  proverbs,  and 
yarns  of  how,  aforetimes,  schooners  not  larger  and  not  so 
stout  as  the  "  Miranda,"  starting  early  for  the  Banks,  had 
been  blown  southward  to  the  West  Indies,  and,  when  the 
second-fare  men  came  in  with  their  fish,  had  made  their 
appearance  laden  with  rich  cargoes  of  tropical  molasses 
and  bananas.  Poor  Hepsy  Ann !  what  need  to  describe 
the  long-drawn  agony  which  grew  with  the  summer 
flowers,  but  did  not  wane  with  the  summer  sun  ?  Hour 
after  hour,  day  after  day,  she  sat  by  her  pantry-window, 
looking  with  wistful  eyes  out  over  the  sand,  to  that  spot 
where  the  ill-fated  "Miranda"  had  last  been  seen,  but 
never  should  appear  again — another 

"poor  lone  Hannah, 
Sitting  by  the  window,  binding  shoes  " — 

cheeks  paling,  eyes  dimming,  with  that  hope  deferred 
which  maketh  the  heart  sick.  Pray  God  you  never  may 
be  so  tried,  fair  reader !  If,  in  these  days,  she  had  not 
had  the  children  to  keep  and  comfort,  she  has  since 


Elkanah  Brewster's  Temptation.  141 


told  me,  she  could  scarce  have  borne  it.  To  calm  their 
fears,  to  soothe  their  little  sorrows,  to  look  anxiously, 
more  anxiously  than  ever  before,  after  each  one  of  her 
precious  little  brood,  became  now  her  chief  solace. 

Thus  the  long  weary  days  rolled  away,  each  setting 
sun  crushing  another  hope,  until  at  last  the  autumn 
storms  approached,  the  last  Banker  was  safe  home ;  and 
by  this  time  it  was  plain,  even  to  poor  Hepsy  Ann's 
faithful  heart,  that  her  dead  would  not  come  back  to 
her. 

"  If  only  Elkanah  were  here ! "  she  had  sometimes 
sighed  to  herself;  but  in  all  these  days  she  wrote  him 
no  word.  And  he,  guessing  nothing  of  her  long,  silent 
agony,  himself  sufficiently  bemired  in  his  slough  of  de 
spond,  working  away  with  sad,  unsatisfied  heart  in  his 
little  studio,  hoping  yet  for  light  to  come  to  his  night, 
was,  in  truth,  so  full  of  himself,  that  Hepsy  Ann  had  lit 
tle  of  his  thoughts.  Shall  I  go  further,  and  admit  that 
sometimes  this  poor  fellow  dimly  regretted  his  pledged 
heart,  and  faintly  murmured,  "  If  only  I  were  free,  then 
I  might  do  something"? 

If  only  the  ship  were  rid  of  her  helmsman,  then  in 
deed  would  she  go — somewhere. 

At  last — it  was  already  near  Thanksgiving — the  news 
reached  Elkanah.  "I  thought  you'd  ha'  been  down 
afore  this  to  see  Hepsy  Ann  Nickerson  in  her  trouble," 
said  an  old  coasting-skipper  to  him,  with  mild  reproach, 
handing  him  a  letter  from  his  mother — of  all  persons  in 
the  world !  Whereupon,  seeing  ignorance  in  Elkanah's 
inquiring  glance,  he  told  the  story. 


142  Elkanah  Brewste^s  Temptation. 


Elkanah  was  as  one  in  a  maze.  Going  to  bis  little 
room,  he  opened  his  mother's  letter,  half  dreading  to  find 
here  a  detailed  repetition  of  what  his  heart  had  just 
taken  in.  But  the  letter  was  short. 

"  MY  SON  ELKANAH  : — Do  you  not  know  that  Captain 
Elijah  Nickerson  will  never  come  home  from  the  Banks, 
and  that  Hepsy  Ann  is  left  alone  in  the  world  ? 

"  '  For  this  cause  shall  a  man  leave  his  father  and 
mother,  and  be  joined  to  his  wife,  and  they  two  shall  be 
one  flesh.'" 

That  was  all. 

Elkanah  sat  on  his  stool,  before  his  easel,  looking  va 
cantly  at  the  unfinished  picture,  as  one  stunned  and 
breathless.  For  the  purport  of  this  message  was  not  to 
be  mistaken.  Nor  did  his  conscience  leave  him  in  doubt 
as  to  his  duty.  O  God!  was  this,  indeed,  the  end? 
Had  he  toiled,  and  hoped,  and  prayed,  and  lived  the  life 
of  an  anchorite  these  five  years  only  for  this?  "Was 
such  faith,  such  devotion,  so  rewarded  ? 

But  had  any  one  the  right  to  demand  this  sacrifice  of 
him?  Was  it  not  a  devilish  temptation  to  take  him 
from  his  calling,  from  that  work  in  which  God  had  evi 
dently  intended  him  to  work  for  the  world  ?  Had  he  a 
right  to  spoil  his  life,  to  belittle  his  soul,  for  any  consid 
eration?  If  Hepsy  Ann  Nickerson  had  claims,  had  not 
he  also,  and  his  Art  ?  If  he  were  willing,  in  this  dire 
extremity,  to  sacrifice  his  love,  his  prospects  of  married 
bliss,  might  he  not  justly  require  the  same  of  her  ?  "Was 


Elkanah  Brewster's  Temptation.  143 


not  Art  his  mistress?  Thus  whispered  the  insidious 
devil  of  Selfishness  to  this  poor,  tempted,  anguished  soul. 

"Yea,"  whispered  another  still,  small  voice;  "but  is 
not  Hepsy  Ann  your  promised  wife  ?  "  And  those  fatal 
words  sounded  in  his  heart :  "  For  this  cause  shall  a 
man  leave  his  father  and  mother,  and  be  joined  to  his 
wife." 

"  Lord,  inspire  me  to  do  what  is  right ! "  prayed  poor 
mazed  Elkanah,  sinking  on  his  knees  at  his  cot-side. 

But  presently,  through  his  blinding  tears,  "  Lord,  give 
me  strength  to  do  the  right ! " 


V. 

And  then,  when  he  awoke  next  morning,  the  world 
seemed  another  world  to  him.  The  foundations  of  his 
life  were  broken  loose.  Tears  were  no  longer,  nor 
prayers.  But  he  went  about  slowly,  and  with  loving 
hands,  packing  up  his  brushes,  pallets,  paints,  easel — all 
the  few  familiar  objects  of  a  life  which  was  his  no  longer, 
and  on  which  he  seemed  to  himself  already  looking  as 
across  some  vast  gulf  of  years.  At  last  all  was  done. 
A  last  look  about  the  dismantled  garret,  so  long  his 
workshop,  his  home,  where  he  had  grown  out  of  one  life 
into  another,  and  a  better,  as  he  thought — out  of  a  nar 
row  circle  into  a  broader.  And  then,  away  for  the  Cape. 
No  farewells,  no  explanations  to  friends,  nothing  that 
should  hold  out  to  his  sad  soul  any  faintest  hope  of  a 
return  to  this  garret,  this  toil,  which  now  seemed  to  him 
more  heaven  than  ever  before. 


144  Elkanah  Brew  sterns  Temptation. 


Thus  this  Adam  left  his  paradise,  clinging  to  his  Eve. 

It  was  the  day  before  Thanksgiving  when  Elkanah 
arrived  at  home.  Will  any  one  blame  him,  if  he  felt 
little  thankful  ?  if  the  thought  of  the  Thanksgiving  tur 
key  was  like  to  choke  him,  and  the  very  idea  of  giving 
thanks  seemed  to  him  a  bitter  satire  ?  Poor  fellow !  he 
forgot  that  there  were  other  hearts  to  whom  Thanksgiv 
ing  turkey  was  little  tempting. 

The  Cape  folk  are  not  demonstrative.  They  have 
warm  hearts,  but  the  old  Puritan  ice  has  never  quite 
melted  away  from  the  outer  shell. 

"  Well,  Elkanah,  glad  to  see  you,  boy ! "  said  his  father, 
looking  up  from  his  corner  by  the  stove ;  "  how's  things 
in  New  York  ?  "  Father  and  son  had  not  met  for  three 
years.  But,  going  into  the  kitchen,  he  received  a  warm 
grasp  of  the  hand,  and  his  mother  said,  in  her  low,  sweet 
voice,  "  I  knew  you'd  come."  That  was  all.  But  it  was 
enough. 

How  to  take  his  sad  face  over  to  Elijah  Nickerson's 
new  house?  But  that  must  be  done,  too.  Looking 
through  the  little  sitting-room  window,  as  he  passed,  he 
saw  pale-faced  Hepsy  Ann  sitting  quietly  by  the  table, 
sewing.  The  children  had  gone  to  bed.  He  did  not 
knock  ;  why  should  he  ?  •  but,  walking  in,  stood  silent  on 
the  floor.  A  glad,  surprised  smile  lit  up  the  sad,  wan 
face,  as  she  recognized  him,  and,  stepping  to  his  side, 
said,  "Oh,  Elkanah  !  I  knew  you'd  come.  How  good  of 
you ! "  Then,  abashed  to  have  so  committed  herself  and 
him,  she  shrank  to  her  chair  again. 

Let  us  not  intrude  further  on  these  two.     Surely  Elka- 


Elkanah  Brewsters  Temptation.  145 


nah  Brewster  had  been  less  than  man,  had  he  not  found 
his  hard  heart  to  soften,  and  his  cold  love  to  warm,  as 
he  drew  from  her  the  story  of  her  long  agony,  and  saw 
this  weary  heart  ready  to  rest  upon  him,  longing  to  be 
comforted  in  his  strong  arms. 

The  next  day  a  small  sign  was  put  up  at  Abijah 
Brewster's  door — 

BOOTS  AND  SHOES 

MADE    AND    MENDED 


BY 

ELKANAH   BREWSTER. 


It  was  arranged  that  he  should  work  at  his  trade  all 
winter.  In  the  spring  he  was  to  have  his  father's  ves 
sel,  and  the  wedding  would  be  before  he  started  for  the 
Banks. 

So  the  old  life  was  put  on  again.  I  will  not  say  that 
Elkanah  was  thoroughly  content — that  there  were  no  bit 
ter  longings,  no  dim  regrets,  no  faint  questionings  of 
Providence.  But  hard  work  is  a  good  salve  for  a  sore 
heart ;  and  in  his  honest  toils,  in  his  care  for  Hepsy  Ann 
and  her  little  brood,  in  her  kind  heart,  which  acknowl 
edged  with  such  humility  of  love  all  he  did  for  her  and 
all  he  had  cast  away  for  her,  he  found  his  reward. 

The  wedding  was  over,  a  quiet  affair  enough,  and  El 
kanah  was  anchored  on  the  Banks,  with  a  brave,  skillful 
crew,  and  plenty  of  fish.  His  old  luck  had  not  desert 
ed  him ;  wherever"  he  dropped  anchor,  there  the  cod 
seemed  to  gather;  and,  in  the  excitement  of  catching 
fish  and  guarding  against  the  dangers  of  the  Banks,  the 


146  Elkanah  BrewsteSs  Temptation. 


New  York  life  seemed  presently  forgotten ;  and,  once 
more,  Elkanati's  face  wore  the  old,  hopeful  calm  which 
belonged  there.  Art,  who  had  been  so  long  his  tyrant 
mistress,  was  at  last  cast  off. 

Was  she  ? 

As  he  sat,  one  evening,  high  on  the  quarter,  smoking 
his  pipe,  in  that  calm,  contemplative  mood  which  is  the 
smoker's  reward  for  a  day  of  toil — the  little  vessel  pitch 
ing  bows  under  in  the  long,  tremendous  swell  of  the  At 
lantic,  the  low  drifting  fog  lurid  in  the  light  of  the  set 
ting  sun,  but  bright  stars  twinkling  out,  one  by  one, 
overhead,  in  a  sky  of  Italian  clearness  and  softness,  it  all 
came  to  him,  that  which  he  had  so  long,  so  vainly 
sought,  toiled  for,  prayed  for  in  New  York — his  destiny. 

Why  should  he  paint  heads,  figures,  landscapes,  ob 
jects  with  which  his  heart  had  never  been  really  filled  ? 

But  now,  as  in  one  flash  of  divinest  intelligence,  it  was 
revealed  to  him !  This  sea,  this  fog,  this  sky,  these  stars, 
this  old,  old  life,  which  he  had  been  almost  born  into, 
O,  blind  bat  indeed,  not  to  have  seen,  long,  long  ago, 
that  this  was  your  birthright  in  Art !  not  to  have  felt,  in 
your  innermost  heart,  that  this  was  indeed  that  thing,  if 
any  thing,  which  God  had  called  you  to  paint ! 

For,  this  Elkanah  had  drunk  in  from  his  earliest  youth, 
this  he  understood  to  its  very  core ;  but  the  poor  secret 
of  that  other  life,  which  is  so  draped  about  with  the  ar 
tistic  mannerisms  and  fashionable  Art  of  New  York,  or 
any  other  civilized  life,  he  had  never  rightly  appreciated. 

In  that  sunset-hour  was  born  a  painter ! 


Elkanah  Brewster's  Temptation.  147 


YI. 

It  chanced,  that,  a  few  months  ago,  I  paid  my  accus 
tomed  summer  visit  to  an  old  friend,  living  near  Boston — 
a  retired  merchant  he  calls  himself.  He  began  life  as  a 
cabin-boy,  became,  in  time,  master  of  an  Indiaman,  then, 
partner  in  a  China  house,  and  after  many  years'  residence 
in  Canton,  returned  some  years  ago,  heart  and  liver 
whole,  to  spend  his  remaining  days  among  olden  scenes. 
A  man  of  truest  culture,  generous  heart,  and  rarely  err 
ing  taste.  I  never  go  there  without  rinding  something 
new  and  admirable. 

"What  am  I  to  see  this  time?"  I  asked,  after  dinner, 
looking  about  the  drawing-room. 

"  Come.     I'll  show  you." 

He  led  me  up  to  a  painting,  a  sea-piece :  a  schooner, 
riding  at  her  anchor,  at  sunset,  far  out  at  sea,  no  land  in 
sight,  sails  down,  all  but  a  little  patch  of  stonm-sail  flut 
tering  wildly  in  the  gale,  and  heavily  pitching  in  a  great, 
grand,  rolling  sea;  around,  but  not  closely  enveloping 
her,  a  driving  fog-bank,  lurid  in  the  yellow  sheen  of  the 
setting  sun;  above  her,  a  few  stars  dimly  twinkling 
through  a  clear  blue  sky ;  on  the  quarter-deck,  men  sit 
ting,  wrapped  in  all  the  paraphernalia  of  storm-clothing, 
smoking  and  watching  the  roll  of  the  sea. 

"What  do  you  think?"  asked  Captain  Eastwick,  in 
terrupting  my  rapt  contemplation. 

"  I  never  in  my  life  saw  so  fine  a  sea- view.  Whose 
can  it  be?" 


148  Elkanah's  Brewster's  Temptation. 


"  A  Cape-Cod  fisherman's." 

"  But  lie  is  a  genius ! "  cried  I,  enthusiastically. 

"  A  great,  a  splendid  genius ! "  said  my  friend,  quietly. 

"  And  a  fisherman  ?  " 

"  Yes,  and  shoe-maker." 

"  What  a  magnificent  career  he  might  make !  Why 
don't  you  help  him  ?  What  a  pity  to  bury  such  a  man 
in  fish-boots  and  cod-livers!" 

"  My  dear,"  said  Captain  Eastwick,  "  you  are  a  goose. 
The  highest  genius  lives  above  the  littleness  of  making 
a  career.  This  man  needs  no  Academy  prizes  or  praises. 
To  my  mind,  his  is  the  noblest,  happiest  life  of  all." 

Whereupon  he  told  me  the  story  which  I  have  en 
deavored  to  relate. 


ONE   PAIR   OF   BLUE   EYES. 


ONE  PAIR   OF  BLUE  EYES. 


'\1/'HOEYEE)  cares  to  get  at  the  remainder  of  this  in 
ventory  of  charms,  the  property  of  one  Lizzy  Al- 
bertson,  but  now  sometime  in  the  care  and  guardianship 
of  George  Markham,  Artist,  must  read  this  story  through 
to  the  end.  I  have  not  yet  determined  at  what  point 
therein  Miss  Lizzie  shall  come  upon  the  stage. 

"  The  serenity  of  fortunate  people,"  says  La  Koche- 
foucauld,  "comes  from  the  calm  which  good  fortune 
gives  to  their  temper."  To  show  what  serenity  of  mind 
and  contentment  of  heart  may  come  to  one  whom  fortune 
has  treated  with  persistent  unkindness  is  in  part  the  ob 
ject  of  this  true  story. 

Six  years  ago  my  school  friend,  George  Markham,  re 
turned  to  our  little  New  England  city,  his  birthplace 
and  early  home,  after  an  absence  of  many  years  in  Italy, 
devoted  to  the  study  of  his  profession,  Painting. 

He  left  us  a  thoughtful,  quiet  boy  of  nineteen.  He  re 
turned,  a  man  of  twenty-seven,  bearded,  mustacheoed, 
sunburned,  grave,  but  gentle  still. 

George  was  left  an  orphan  at  the  age  of  seven ;  and 


152  One  Pair  of  Blue  Eyes. 


was  at  that  time  adopted  by  the  family  of  a  maternal 
uncle,  a  worthy  and  large-hearted  ship-carpenter,  who, 
though  he  had  a  growing  family  of  his  own  to  provide 
for,  could  not  see  the  poor  little  boy  thrown  helpless  upon 
the  tender  mercies  of  strangers.  This  uncle,  by  name 
Williams,  gave  to  George  such  an  education  as  was 
within  his  limited  means;  gave  him  shelter,  food  and 
clothing;  and  seeing  the  boy's  decided  aversion  to  the 
avuncular  trade  of  ship-building,  and  his  just  as  decided 
bent  for  drawing  and  sketching,  was  kind  enough  not  to 
oppose  him  too  strongly,  but  permitted  him  to  devote  his 
scant  pocket-money  and  spare  hours  to  a  resident  master 
of  design,  who  carried  his  pupil  quickly  through  the  ele 
ments  of  outline,  shading,  and  perspective,  and  there  left 
him  to  shift  for  himself,  that  being,  in  fact,  as  far  as  he 
could  carry  him. 

At  fourteen  George  entered  a  "store"  as  clerk.  On 
his  nineteenth  birthday  he  set  out  for  Italy,  with  bright 
hopes,  a  scanty  wardrobe,  a  few  Italian  and  English  books, 
and  the  immense  sum  of  two  hundred  and  fifty  dollars, 
the  savings  of  his  young  life-time,  whereupon  to  live  out 
the  weary  days  of  his  novitiate  in  Art. 

You  see,  in  a  smart  little  town  such  as  ours  was  at  that 
time,  the  good  folks  know  a  great  deal  about  each  other's 
business  and  private  affairs;  and  so  George's  "circum 
stances"  and  struggles  and  hopes  were  public  property, 
and,  you  may  depend,  were  freely  enough  discussed  at 
the  diurnal  gatherings  of  "grannies  male  and  female. 
There  was  the  usual  talk  of  your  shrewd  man  of  the 
world,  who  knows  all  about  the  future,  having  examined 


One  Pair  of  Blue  Eyes.  153 


it  thoroughly  through  his  own  private  millstone;  the 
usual  talk  about  the  folly  of  young  men  above  following 
the  professions  of  their  fathers,  from  wood-sawjng  up,  as 
though  Caste  were  'a  Divine  Institution ;  the  usual  small 
sneer  at  youthful  aspirations :  this  from  a  man,  you  may 
be  sure !  women  do  not  sneer  at  any  thing  which  tends 
upward — as  though  one  should  not  think  of  climbing 
till  his  limbs  are  stiff  with  age  and  rust.  Little  good 
was  prophesied  of  the  boy  who  might  have  become  a 
ship-carpenter,  or  a  "  store-keeper,"  or  perhaps,  had  he 
gone  a  whaling — ours  is  a  whaling  port — might  eventual 
ly,  barring  accidents,  have  attained  even  the  dignity  of 
whaling-skipper,  but  who  perversely  chose  to  throw  away 
his  opportunities,  and  waste  his  youth  and  time  in  foreign 
parts,  "  learning  to  do  what  would  never  be  of  use  to  any 
one." 

Of  course  we  boys,  his  school-mates,  were  with  George. 
Not  that  we  had  elevated  notions  about  Art ;  indeed,  so 
far  as  I  remember,  what  ideas  we  had  at  all  upon  the 
subject  were  of  the  crudest.  But  boys  like  to  see  boys 
have  their  way ;  and  though  George  said  very  little  of 
his  hopes,  his  hopeful  face  told  a  tale  which  was  not 
greek  to  any  of  us.  If  our  school-mate  heard  any  of  the 
sneers  and  ill  auguries  which  passed  around,  they  did  not 
affect  him ;  his  sky  was  without  a  cloud  as  yet.  More 
over,  truth  to  say,  the  good  townsfolk  really  liked  George, 
and  though  naturally  thinking  him  sadly  mistaken, 
pretty  unanimously  wished  him  well.  The  boy  had  been 
learning  all  his  life  that  bitterly  wholesome  lesson,  earliest 
taught  the  children  of  misfortune,  to  suit  himself  readily 

G2 


154  One  Pair  of  Blue  Eyes. 


to  the  humors  and  prejudices  of  those  who  affected  more 
or  less  his  limited  happiness,  and  to  take  his  point,  if  it 
were  worth  taking,  with  a  respectful  "  by  -jour-lea  ve  "  to 
those  who  differed  from  him.  Not  so  obstinately  as  im 
ploringly  persistent,  George  enlisted  his  townsmen's  sym 
pathies  ;  and  as  they  knew  he  was  wrong,  they  could  and 
did  afford  him  their  best  wishes,  to  cheer  him  on  his  lone 
ly  way. 

Arrived  in  Eome,  he  went  earnestly  to  work.  His  let 
ters  spoke  little,  even  of  his  hopes ;  but  they  were  never 
gloomy.  Besides  amusing  descriptions  of  the  strange 
sights  and  people  he  met,  scraps  of  which  from  time  to 
time  gained  admission  to  the  columns  of  our  weekly 
paper,  to  honest  Mrs.  Williams's  great  delight,  and  enthu 
siastic  words  on  the  wonders  of  Art  with  which  he  was 
delighting  and  instructing  himself,  there  was  very  little. 
Nothing,  in  fact,  except,  in  his  letters  to  Mr.  Williams, 
always  an  assurance  that  he  was  conscientiously  using 
his  opportunities,  and  that  he  hoped  by  and  by  to  accom 
plish  something :  which  last  was  so  modestly  vague  that 
I  think  it  gained  him  little  credit  with  any  one  but  Mrs. 
Williams,  who  in  her  secret  heart  firmly  believed  him  a 
budding  Michael  Angelo. 

How  he  lived  through  those  days,  this  young  Art  stu 
dent,  I  have  never  discovered.  Two  hundred  and  fifty 
dollars  could  not  hold  out  forever,  even  in  the  Eternal 
City,  and  what  came  after  I  can  not  imagine,  never,  thank 
fortune !  having  been  in  Eome,  or  an  Art  student,  my 
self.  Doubtless  there  was  earnest  and  honest  and  modest 
endeavor,  cheered  by  the  sometimes  faint  but  never  silent 


One  Pair  of  Blue  Eyes.  155 


voice  within,  which  assures  the  man  that  he  has  found 
his  vocation  in  life.  I  fancy  Providence  somehow 
watches  over  these  young  ones,  who,  full  of  faith,  and  in 
cipient  good  works  let  us  say,  so  ingenuously  thrust 
themselves  into  places  where  there  would  seem  to  be  no 
openings  of  the  better  sort  for  young  men.  I  suspect 
that  George  was  oftentimes  inconveniently  near  starving, 
and  had  long  need  of  a  new  coat  before  he  got  it.  But 
these  are  by-gones:  fears  whose  season  is  past;  clouds 
whose  storms  only  aided  to  ripen  the  hopes  of  those  days 
into  the  fair  fruition  of  these. 

George  did  not  starve ;  and  he  did  become  so  far  pro 
ficient  in  his  Art  as  by  and  by  to  attract  the  attention 
of  the  picture  buyers.  Presently  some  liberal-hearted 
Americans  gave  him  orders  which  enabled  him  to  work 
more  at  ease.  Great  again  was  honest  Mrs.  Williams's 
joy,  when  so  much  of  young  Markham's  success  was 
heralded  to  the  town  in  our  newly-established  Daily,  that 
big-typed  messenger  of  stale  news. 

Seven  years  had  passed  when  George  returned  to  us, 
having  achieved  during  his  long  absence,  as  in  part  be 
fore  mentioned,  much  hair,  some  reputation,  and  a  very 
pretty  little  account  at  the  "  Whalemen's  Security  Bank;" 
part  of  which  last  he  devoted,  as  was  right,  to  cancelling 
the  pecuniary  part  of  his  boyhood's  debt  to  good  Uncle 
Williams,  while  the  remainder  was  quite  sufficient  to  war 
rant  him  in  lying  on  his  oars  for  a  summer,  enjoying  a 
holiday  he  had  fairly  earned. 

Now  our  town  is  a  place  famous  for  summer  amuse 
ments  :  bathing,  boating,  fishing,  idling,  flirting,  picnick- 


156  One  Pair  of  Blue  Eyes. 


ing,  what  not.  There  are  plenty  of  ways  and  means  to 
kill  time  and  spend  money,  as  sundry  merchants  of 
your  great  Gotham  know  to  their  cost,  whose  wives 
and  daughters  rustle  and  rusticate  amongst  us  annually, 
pending  the  expiration  of  Mr.  Merriam's  heated  term. 
George,  of  course,  spent  the  summer  with  us.  During 
his  absence  the  little  town  had  grown,  after  the  manner 
of  American  towns,  to  be  nearly  a  city;  many  of  its 
worthy  citizens  had  become  wealthy  and  fashionable. 

To  their  credit  be  it  said,  that  George,  who  had  by  no 
means  been  forgotten,  was  one  of  the  fashions  of  the 
season.  His  studio,  where  he  had  unrolled  a  few  of  his 
paintings,  and  set  up  his  modest  collection  of  souvenirs 
of  travel,  was  quite  a  place  of  pilgrimage ;  and  fairer 
pilgrims,  or  more  admiring,  sure  no  lucky  young  bache 
lor  hermit  could  ask.  Invitations  to  boating  and  fishing 
parties,  to  picnics,  to  tea  (we  do  not  give  dinners),  were 
showered  upon  him  ;  and  wherever  he  showed  his  quiet, 
jolly  old  mug  he  was  hailed  by  friends.  My  friend  was 
not  a  hero,  only  a  simple  good-hearted  young  fellow ; 
but  he  would  have  been  a  brute  had  he  not  seen  and 
enjoyed  the  liking  of  his  townsmen. 

Being  now,  as  I  have  said,  in  his  twenty-seventh  year, 
and  having  the  proper  and  natural  longing  for  domestic 
happiness,  a  hearth  of  his  own,  et  cetera,  it  seemed  to 
me  that  this  was  the  time  for  George,  as  a  reasonable 
man,  to  choose  him  a  wife.  Moreover,  being  an  artist, 
no  very  lucrative  profession  at  best,  and  having  his  own 
bread  to  earn  and  way  to  make,  I,  who  am  a  lawyer  (I 
have  handed  my  business  card  to  the  editor  of  this  jour- 


One  Pair  of  13 1  tie  Eyes.  157 


nal,  and  will  be  most  happy  to  attend  to  any  business  in 
my  line,  with  promptness  and  dispatch),  I,  who  am,  I 
trust,  a  sensible  man,  thought  it  clearly  his  duty,  other 
things  being  equal,  to  marry  some  young  woman  with  a 
portion  of  her  own. 

1ST.  B. — It  may  be  as^  well  here  to  inform  the  reader 
that  I  am  not  a  mercenary  wretch,  but  only  a  right- 
minded  and  tolerably  clear-headed  man ;  that  I  do  not, 
though  a  lawyer,  "  advocate  the  sacrifice  of  the  holi 
est  affections  upon  the  altar  of  Mammon,"  and  so  on ; 
but  on  the  contrary  believe  that  no  marriage  without 
love  can  prosper ;  just  as  firmly  as  I  believe  that  no  mar 
riage  without  a  sufficiency  of  bread  and  butter,  and  its 
adjuncts,  can  be  at  all  comfortable.  Of  both  these  great 
hymeneal  facts  a  married  lawyer  of  thirty  years  may  be 
supposed  a  capable  judge.  There  remained  in  this  case, 
therefore,  only  one  of  two  courses :  to  marry  wealth,  as  I 
proposed ;  or  to  wait  'till  he  got  rich.  But  I  think  it 
would  take  a  poor  devil  artist  some  years  to  amass  the 
funds  needed  to  buy  precisely  the  article  in  the  matrimo 
nial  market  which  would  best  suit  him. 

With  these  views  of  life,  and  my  love  for  George,  I 
did  not  behold  without  a  certain  degree  of  dismay  the 
establishment  of  an  atrocious  flirtation  between  my 
friend  and  a  young  woman  of  my  acquaintance,  the 
Lizzy  Albertson  before  named ;  who  therefore  comes 
now  upon  the  stage.  Lizzy,  a  great  pet  of  my  wife's 
and  much  at  our  house,  was  a  charming  girl,  bright, 
graceful,  fair-haired,  and  blue-eyed  ;  an  orphan,  and  pen 
niless  ;  being  dependent  upon  an  uncle  who  could  be- 


158  One  Pair  of  Blue  Eyes. 


stow  upon  her  nothing  more  substantial  than  a  father 
ly  affection,  her  education,  and  a  home.  A  sweet  little 
girl,  who  had  so  many  faults  that  no  one  of  her  friends 
who  petted  her  but  also  gave  her  good  advice ;  and  yet 
so  perfect  that  no  man  but  a  fool  would  have  risked  his 
soul  by  tinkering  at  her,  or  in  any  way  trying  to  amend 
her.  One  can  not  help  feeling  a  great  pity  for  this  -one, 
at  least,  of  the  many  products  of  our  republican  school 
system,  which  so  democratically  jumbles  together  poor 
and  rich,  but  while  thus  establishing  a  common  bond  be 
tween  the  social  extremes,  is,  I  fear,  more  apt  to  affect 
the  poor  girl  with  aristocratic  tastes  than  to  infuse  re 
publican  simplicity  into  the  hearts  and  minds  of  the 
wealthier.  Looking  at  Lizzy,  one  was  tempted  to  echo 
Mr.  Harold  Skimpole's  buoyant  wish  that  "  there  might 
be  no  brambles  of  sordid  realities  in  such  a  path  as  that. 
It  should  be  strewn  with  roses;  it  should  be  through 
bowers  where  there  was  no  spring,  autumn,  nor  winter, 
but  perpetual  summer.  Age  or  change  should  never 
wither  it.  The  base  word  money  should  never  be 
breathed  near  it." 

If  George  had  been  a  rich  man,  here,  I  think,  had 
been  a  wife  just  suited  to  him.  But  not  for  a  poor  fel 
low  !  and  this  I  determined  to  tell  him. 

It  is  but  fair  to  say  that  on  communicating  my  views 
to  my  wife,  that  exemplary  matron  declined  utterly  to 
look  at  the  matter  with  me ;  declaring  bluntly  that  peo 
ple  ought  to  trust  a  little,  in  such  cases,  to  Providence, 
the  world  ("  which  is  good  enough  in  the  main,"  said 
this  unsophisticated  woman),  and  to  themselves;  at- 


One  Pair  of  Blue  Eyes.  159 


tempting,  moreover,  to  clinch  her  sophistries  by  asking 
if  I,  the  reader's  humble  servant,  "  thought  of  such 
things  when  courting  her  ?  "  To  which  I  instantly  re 
plied  that  I  was  a  lawyer  and  not  an  artist;  that  she 
was  her  dear  self  and  not  Lizzy  Albertson ;  and  that 
plainly  there  was  no  parallel  between  the  cases ;  which 
propositions  I  proceeded  to  demonstrate  on  the  spot  by 
a  kiss  on  as  rosy  a  pair  of  lips  as  you  will  meet  in  a  sun 
ny  day's  travel  in  our  part  of  the  country ;  and  having 
thus  effectually  closed  her  mouth,  I  beat  a  victorious 
retreat,  and  sped  upon  my  mission.  Oh  these  women ! 
They  can  never  look  at  such  a  merely  common-sense 
matter  sensibly !  If  they  but  sniff  a  wedding  in  the  far 
distance,  see  how  they  prick  back  their  ears  and  rush  to 
lend  their  mighty  help. 

"  My  dear  young  friend,"  said  I,  entering  the  studio, 
where  George  sat  in  blissful  contemplation  of  his  cigar- 
smoke,  "  I  understand  you  are  making  up  to  that  Lizzy 
Albertson."  I  opened  the  case  in  this  wise  in  order,  if 
possible,  to  take  the  witness  by  surprise. 

"  Well  ?  "  said  George,  very  little  ruffled,  I  must  confess. 

"It  is  not  well ;  she's  poor,"  said  I,  righteously  scorn 
ing  all  subterfuge,  and  coming  at  once  to  the  point. 

"Well?" 

"  She's  a  dear,  frail,  unsophisticated  creature,  who  will 
make  some  wealthy  man  a  happy  wife,  if  he  has  a  heart 
big  enough  for  her.  She  is  bright  and  cheery  and  thor 
oughly  good  ;  but  she  has  not  strength  enough  to  strug 
gle  with  poverty  and  adversity.  You  will  only  tie  your 
hands.  You  ought  to  do  better." 


160  One  Pair  of  Slue  Eyes. 


"Bosh!" 

Now  came  my  last  and  best  shot. 

"  And  so  ought  Lizzy. .  Such  as  she  are  meant  to  en 
joy,  not  to  help  accumulate.  With  a  husband  who  can 
afford  to  cherish  and  indulge  her,  she  will  live  her  natu 
ral  life  out.  With  you,  poor  fellow,  why  it's  positively 
selfish  in  you  to  ask  her  to  be  your  wife." 

George  was  not  much  of  a  mathematician,  but  he  had 
studied  Euclid  enough  to  know  that  a  straight  line  is 
the  shortest  distance  between  two  points. 

"  That  looks  fair,"  said  he,  in  reply  to  my  last.  "  I'll 
go  over  and  ask  her  about  it." 

Will  you  believe  it  ?  The  fellow  actually  went  over 
to  my  house,  stated  the  case  honorably  to  Miss  Lizzy, 
and,  of  course,  was  accepted ! 

That  was  the  end  of  my  match-marring.  They  were 
married  at  the  beginning  of  winter  and  immediately  re 
moved  to  New  York,  that  centre  of  art  and  money.  Up 
to  their  wedding-day,  I  ceased  not  to  warn  both  parties 
to  this  rash  wooing;  to  lecture  them  on  economy  and 
self-denial ;  to  alarm  them  by  eloquent  pictures  of  the 
missions  of  poverty.  But  what  availed  my  croaking 
when  their  hearts  were  filled  with  love-illumined  pict 
ures  of  the  future  ?  sketches  drawn  by  Cupid's  own  mas 
ter  hand  ?  To  such  young  people  as  these  life  seems  to 
promise  every  thing,  and  the  problem  of  happiness  and 
fortune  is  solved  before  it  is  read.  What  dreams  they 
dreamed !  Of  a  neat  cottage  home  of  their  own,  where 
the  taste  and  industry  of  the  wife  should  make  up  for 
all  monetary  deficiencies  in  the  husband ;  of  a  quiet  and 


One  Pair  of  Blue  Eyes.  161 


obscure  life  wherein  these  two  love-stricken  souls  should 
be  a  happy  all  in  all  to  each  other ;  of  the  great  master 
piece,  already  sketched  in  thought,  by  which  George 
should  achieve  fame  and  wealth,  as  it  were  at  one  stroke 
of  the  brush ;  of  a  consequent  tour  through  Europe : 
revisiting  with  her  he  loved  best  the  long  familiar  scenes 
and  life  of  Italy;  a  well-earned  competence  to  settle 
down  to,  in  old  age,  among  congenial  spirits.  What 
avails  the  rehearsal  ?  Have  we  not  all  alike  dreamed 
such  dreams,  and  seen  such  visions  ? 

So  they  removed  to  New  York,  where  George  set  up 
his  studio,  and  divided  his  hours  of  leisure  between  his 
wife  and  the  master-piece,  which  last  had  got  little  fur 
ther  yet  than  the  mind  of  the  painter.  For  to  produce 
this  master-piece  needs  not  only  will,  but  thought,  expe 
rience,  study;  for  these,  indeed,  are  they  not  the  com 
ponent  parts  of  all  true  Genius  ?  Here  George  worked 
out  happier  days  than  in  that  bitter  struggle  of  his  youth 
he  had  ever  hoped  to  see.  The  man  who  has  a  vocation  he 
loves,  and  can  afford  to  work  at  it ;  who  has  a  wife  he 
loves,  and  a  home  which  she  makes  cheerful ;  who  has 
youth,  health,  a  good  name,  and  a  rising  reputation  in  his 
profession:  surely  this  man  need  ask  no  more  of  the 
gods?  No  more?  Yes;  let  him  seek  to  want  more. 
Let  him  pray  God  to  save  his  soul  from  the  stagnation 
of  utter  content ;  from  the  fatal  taint  of  a  too  easy  success. 
There  is  in  every  human  heart  a  latent  genius  for  martyr 
dom  ;  and  only  when  this  finer,  nobler  instinct  of  self-sac 
rifice  is  brought  into  active  life  does  the  wearied  soul 
grow  upward. 


1 62  One  Pair  of  Blue  Eyes. 


Life  in  a  great  city  is  more  systematized,  better  regu 
lated,  greatly  more  endurable,  than  in  the  country.  But 
city  life  is  fatally  one-sided.  In  these  close  streets,  and 
between  these  high  walls,  the  poor  human  flower  re 
ceives  the  light  but  slantingly ;  and  grows  sadly  awry. 
Think!  the  body  is  so  very  unimportant  a  portion  of 
the  being !  But  in  your  great  city  all  is  prepared  for 
its  comfort.  Your  paved  streets,  "  gas  and  hot  water," 
your  stuffed  arm-chairs,  cosy  libraries,  lined  with  well- 
bound  books  you  do  not  read,  multitudinous  servants, 
and  general  non-necessity  for  exertion :  these  are  what 
most  effectually  embrute  the  average  man ;  pampering 
the  body  till  its  pauper  clamors  drown  out  the  feeble 
cry  of  the  soul.  For,  counting  in  the  schools,  the  libra 
ries,  the  charities,  all  the  grand  benefits  of  a  great  Amer 
ican  city,  what  are  after  all  the  influences  which  most  ir 
resistibly  and  universally  affect  all  life  there?  Firkin 
and  Flora  McFlimsy,  Wall  Street  and  Fifth  Avenue — 
are  not  these  your  gods,  0  Gotham  ?  The  merchant  who 
in  the  general  haste  to  be  rich  prefers,  like  a  good  whist- 
player,  to  take  his  game  by  tricks,  rather  than  by  hon 
ors  ;  the  belle  whom  an  overwhelming  prosperity  binds 
down  in  fatal  fetters  to  dress  and  the  next  party  ;  these 
are  really  they  who  teach  the  young  city  idea  how  to 
shoot  the  shafts  of  life.  Let  us  rejoice  if  young  men  and 
women  distrust  the  city,  and  seek  for  a  freer  atmosphere 
in  the  country. 

That  is  to  say,  the  theory  of  so-called  respectable 
American  city  life  is.  that  every  man  of  family  has  an 
income  of  at  least  five  thousand  a  year ;  the  practice  is 


One  Pair  of  Blue  Eyes.  163 


to  "board"  and  sponge  on  the  hospitalities  of  your 
friends  for  society,  until  you  move  into  your  brown 
stone  front.  Wherefore  Mr.  and  Mrs.  George  Markham, 
having  "moved"  into  New  York,  had  my  hearty  ap 
proval  when  they  moved  out  of  it,  and  into  a  modest 
country  cottage  where,  as  he  remarked,  he  and  his  Lizzy 
could  "  make  as  much  noise  as  they  pleased  " — which 
was,  to  be  sure,  an  important  consideration.  Here  the 
young  wife,  thrown  upon  her  own  resources  for  house 
management,  came  out  in  a  triumphant  way  which 
proves  to  me  that  it  is  no  easy  matter  for  stupid  teachers 
and  a  more  stupid  system  of  society  to  spoil  a  genuine 
woman.  We  complain  of  inefficient  wives  and  mothers, 
but  what  do  we  not  do  to  spoil  our  daughters  for  all  fu 
ture  usefulness  ?  Is  it  too  much  to  say  that  no  average 
mind  can  come  out  unimpaired  from  the  usual  course  of 
platitudes,  called  lessons,  in  boarding-schools?  The 
school  system  of  this  country  is  in  theory  the  grandest, 
most  liberal  in  the  world ;  in  effect  the  most  narrowing, 
superficial,  abominable.  Boys  recover  in  some  measure, 
in  their  forced  battle  with  the  world,  from  the  dullness 
and  intellectual  impotence  gathered  in  the  schools.  The 
girl,  poor  soul,  jumps  from  the  finishing  school  into 
society,  makes  haste  to  forget  what  she  never  was  made 
to  understand,  and  acquires  instead  what — God  help  her 
— we  abuse  her  for  knowing  after  awhile. 

And  yet,  and  yet,  where  can  you  find  one  of  these 
much  abused  ones,  that,  given  proper  opportunity  and 
the  inspiration  of  a  worthy  man's  love,  does  not  justify- 
all  that  the  most  ardent  admirers  of  woman's  powers 


164  One  Pair  of  Blue  Eyes. 


can  ask  of  her?  Let  us  not  be  too  hard  on  Flora  Mc- 
Flimsy.  The  seeds  of  noble  deeds,  of  patient  endurance 
and  loving  sacrifice,  of  all  gentleness  and  goodness,  are 
not  extinct  but  only  slumbering  in 

"That  rather  decayed  but  well-known  work  of  Art, 
Which  Miss  Flora  persisted  in  calling  her  heart." 

Perhaps  some  day,  in  some  decennial  panic,  she  too  may 
be  fortunately  ruined ;  and  thus  relieved,  let  us  believe 
that  Flora  will  make  a  good  sensible  wife,  as  (I  believe) 
every  woman  would,  could  she  have  a  good  sensible 
husband. 

But  to  return  to  our  sheep,  our  lovers  that  is  to  say. 
George  and  his  Lizzy  were  established  in  their  country 
cottage,  which  my  wife,  having  paid  it  a  visit  of  inspec 
tion,  pronounced  a  kind  of  terrestrial  paradise,  without 
serpent  or  forbidden  fruit.  As.  for  the  famous  skeleton 
in  the  closet,  this  was  before  the  era  of  hoops,  and,  to  the 
best  of  my  recollection,  my  wife  made  mention  of  no 
such  anatomical  preparation. 

In  the  winter  of  1855,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Williams,  George's 
uncle  and  aunt,  sailed  for  the  West  Indies,  on  a  health 
trip.  The  children,  four  in  number,  the  eldest  two  had 
died  years  before,  were  placed  at  various  schools  until 
their  parents'  return ;  all  except  Euth,  the  youngest,  who 
came  to  George.  The  vessel  in  which  the  parents  sailed 
has  never  been  heard  from.  Weeks  and  months  elapsed 
without  news  from  the  absent,  and  at  last,  late  in  spring, 
when  it  was  but  too  certain  that  in  the  bitter  storms  of 
that  winter  the  ill-fated  bark  had  gone  down,  it  became 
necessary  to  do  something  for  the  future  of  the  orphaned 


One  Pair  of  £  lite  Eyes.  165 


children.  Mr.  Williams  was  thought  well  to  do ;  but 
when  all  was  settled  there  was  found  to  be  nothing  left. 
What  was  to  become  of  them  ? 

Of  course  it  was  a  great  and  unexpected  misfortune ; 
and  every  body  felt  excessively  sorry  for  the  poor  things 
whose  future  was  thus  so  strangely  overcast  with  woe, 
if  not  with  want.  But  then,  sympathy  don't  fill  the 
stomachs  or  clothe  the  backs  of  orphans,  more's  the  pity, 
and  with  all  our  sorrow  these  might  have  been  put 
on  the  street,  had  not  George  at  once  made  up  his  mind 
to  care  for  them  as  for  his  own  flesh  and  blood ;  rightly 
conceiving  this  a  proper  return  for  the  obligations  con 
ferred  upon  his  own  childhood. 

But  how  ?  The  scant  income  of  a  young  artist  makes 
but  a  sparing  pot  of  his  own  to  boil.  Whence  will  come 
the  means  to  pay  butcher's  and  baker's,  tailor's,  shoe-mak 
er's  and  teacher's  bills,  adequate  to  the  furnishing  of  these 
four  young  stomachs,  backs,  and  brains  ?  Has  any  one 
who  reads  this  experienced  the  almost  hopeless  and  help 
less  despair  of  a  conscientious  man  who  sees  suddenly 
looming  up  before  him  some  great  duty,  seemingly  im 
possible  of  fulfillment?  a  rock  not  to  be  avoided,  but 
on  which  the  poor  mariner  thinks  surely  to  make  ship 
wreck?  Only  one  who  has  known  this  bitter  experi 
ence  can  appreciate  the  state  of  mind  in  which  my  poor 
friend  found  himself  while  thus  divided  between  duty 
and — duty.  ^ 

One  one  side  Conscience :  You  owe  every  thing  to  the 
parents  of  these  children — dare  you  see  them  suffer? 

To  which  Expediency :  But  you  have  your  wife,  and, 


1 66  One  Pair  of  Blue  Eyes. 


in  the  early  future,  your  child.  There  lies  your  first 
duty.  Arid  have  you  not  paid  abundantly,  in  hard- 
earned  money,  this  debt  of  yours  ? 

Conscience :  Was  your  debt  to  be  paid  with  money  ? 

Expediency  :  But  your  wife,  your  future  ?  Can  you 
discharge  this  duty,  if  duty  it  be  ? 

Conscience — troublesome  as  ever,  and  determined  (she 
is  a  woman)  to  have  the  last  word :  A  man  can  always 
do  his  duty. 

"  I  sat  and  tore  my  hair  and  puzzled  my  brain  about 
the  matter,  reproached  myself  for  having  married,  be 
grudged  myself  the  short  happiness  of  my  married  life, 
thought  you,  my  prudent  friend,  a  very  Solomon  of  wis 
dom,  and  myself  a  donkey,  that  I  had  not  seen  as  you 
did — when  suddenly  two  white  arms  encircled  my  neck, 
and  the  dearest  eyes  in  the  world  looked  hope  into  mine. 

"{I  think,  my  dear,  you  had  better  go  on  to-morrow, 
and  bring  back  the  children.  All  will  be  ready  for 
them  when  you  get  them  here.  Now  drive  away  the 
clouds  from  your  face.  I  know  you  have  been  wishing 
me  back  into  my  girlhood,  and  all  sorts  of  horrid  things 
— and  I  should  deserve  it  all  if  I  stood  for  a  moment 
between  you  and  honest  duty.  Let  us  work  together, 
my  dear  husband,  and  courage !  Don'*  forget  that  there 
is  a  Providence.  Did  I  not  promise  to  be  a  helper  to 
you  ? '  And  with  such  words  of  holiest  comfort  to  my 
heart,  my  dear  one  ran  off  to  get  dinner  on  the  table. 
That  settled  the  matter,"  said  George,  repeating  his  wife's 
words  with  tears  in  his  honest  eyes. 

The  children  came  to  Greorge.      The  little  cottage, 


One  Pair  of  Blue  Eyes.  167 


which  seemed  before  hardly  big  enough  to  contain  them 
selves,  suddenly  proved  equal  to  the  accommodation  of 
all  the  new-comers.  They  did  not  starve,  as  George 
had  half  imagined  they  would ;  indeed  that  witch  of  all 
witches,  Mrs.  George,  by  some  potent  sorcery  made  her 
al  lo wance  hold  out  nearly  as  well  as  before.  ' '  And  really 
you  have  no  idea,  Mr.  Smith,"  said  she  to  me  not  long 
after,  "  how  much  they  help  me  about  the  house.  Act 
ive  little  bodies,  they  do  a  hundred  things  for  me,  and 
gladly,  which  would  cost  me  worlds  of  trouble  otherwise. 
I  love  them  as  though  they  were  our  own ;  and  they 
fill  the  house  and  indeed  the  whole  garden  with  the 
cheerful  music  of  their  childish  prattle  and  laughter. 
I'm  sure  I  could  not  do  without  them ;  and  then,"  wink 
ing  demurely  at  her  husband,  "  I  tell  George  we've  gpt 
them  at  a  great  bargain,  for  they  have  all  had  the  measles 
and  whooping-cough." 

Having  now  really  begun  to  do  this  plain  but  hard 
duty,  if  I  were  merely  inventing  a  pretty  story,  I  think 
I  should  at  this  stage  of  the  proceedings  let  some  rich 
curmudgeon  of  an  uncle  die,  full  of  years  and  dollars, 
and  will  a  fortune  to  the  most  deserving  of  heroes  and 
heroines.  But  the  providence  of  story-tellers  differs 
somewhat  from  the  Providence  of  God.  Man  is  glad  to 
take  the  will  for  the  deed ;  but  God  accepts  the  honest 
sacrifice,  and  divinely  turns  it  to  the  giver's  greatest  good. 
There  has  intervened  in  the  present  case,  I  am  sorry  to 
say,  no  rich  uncle,  or  other  pecuniary  convenience.  I 
have  to  report  that  it  has  required  no  little  contriving 
on  the  part  of  Mrs.  George,  and  no  slight  labor  on  that  of 


1 68  One  Pair  of  Blue  Eyes. 


her  husband,  to  duly  join  together  the  financial  ends.  I 
am  not  sure  but  George  had  a  new  coat  oftener  in  his 
early  days  in  Italy  even  than  he  has  now ;  and  my  wife 
tells  me  in  strictest  confidence  that  poor  Mrs.  George 
has  not  had  a  new  silk  dress  in  nearly  three  years !  It 
took  the  entire  savings  of  two  long  years  to  purchase 
what  the  little  woman  liked  better,  a  piano,  which  looks 
rather  out  of  place,  though,  in  their  little  cottage,  until 
you  hear  Lizzy  playing.  In  fact,  though  they  have  man 
aged  to  keep  body  and  soul  together,  and  are  somehow 
a  confoundedly  jolly  family,  my  wife  and  I  agree  that 
they  have  had  monstrous  difficulties  to  contend  with, 
and  find  no  rule  to  account  for  their  happiness.  They 
do  not  seem  to  mind,  though.  I  do  not  know  a  more 
blithe  or  cheerful  little  woman  than  Lizzy,  who  not 
being  able  to  afford  a  doctor,  goes  singing  up  and  down 
the  house  all  day,  in  very  vulgar  good  health,  with 
cheeks  the  color  of  the  reddest  peony  in  her  garden. 
As  for  George,  high  art  was  too  high  for  him,  and  he 
has  taken  to  painting  portraits,  which  he  does  so  well, 
and  with  so  pleasing  a  grace,  as  though  the  highest  aspi 
ration  of  his  soul  were  satisfied  in  taking  off  the  pimply 
nose  of  Mr.  Alderman  Bloggs,  that  if  the  days  should 
happen  to  grow  to  twice  their  length  this  coming  sum 
mer,  I  am  sure  all  his  hours  would  be  filled  with  sitters. 
And  the  master-piece  ?  Well,  the  master-piece  is  laid 
over.  Many  a  good  man  and  true,  in  this  world,  can 
not  spare  time  from  his  bread-and-butter  work  for  his 
master-piece.  And  the  world  jogs  on  all  the  same ;  as 
though  master-pieces  were  of  little  importance,  which  I 
sometimes  think  is  very  nearly  the  case. 


One  Pair  of  JBlue  Eyes.  169 


And  Italy  ?  Kind  reader,  I  am  sorry  ;  I  do  not  think 
little  Lizzy  will  ever  see  Italy,  nor  George  ever  show 
her  the  scenes  of  his  early  fears,  hopes,  and  triumphs. 
They  have  their  hopes  and  their  plans;  but  there  are 
disappointments  in  all  lives ;  and  that  man  is  to  be  pitied 
who  thinks  to  do  a  real  duty  without  sacrificing  some 
thing.  Lizzy  will  scarcely  see  Italy ;  but  Harry  Will 
iams  goes  to  college  next  year,  fully  prepared,  and  Jean- 
nette,  his  eldest  sister,  is  head  of  her  class  in  the  best  girl's 
school  in  the  country.  Tommy  and  Euth  will  take  their 
turns  in  time,  and  to  them  will  probably  succeed  a  couple 
of  youngsters  whose  laughing  brown  eyes  Lizzy  would 
not  give  for  a  dozen  Italics. 

When  I  read  in  my  morning  paper  of  the  gay  par 
ties  and  fine  winter  doings  in  Washington  and  else 
where,  where  the  American  citizen  drinks  deep  at  the 
fountain  of  social  pleasure ;  when  my  friends  boast  of 
American  beauty  or  grace  abroad ;  when  I  think  of  the 
many  joys  society  and  the  great  world  hold  out  to  one 
who  has  not  only  a  beautiful  face  but  a  good  heart 
and  a  bright  spirit — reading  of  these  things,  I  sometimes 
think  longingly  of  our  little  Blue  Eyes,  with  her  eager 
enjoyment  of  life,  her  fine  brave  spirits  and  keen  appre 
ciation  of  all  innocent  pleasures,  and  all  beautiful  things. 
These  might  have  been  hers,  too,  I  say  to  myself.  She 
would  have  shone  among  the  fairest  and  brightest. 
None  would  have  more  enjoyed,  none  would  have  bet 
ter  graced  such  scenes  as  these. 

But,  on  the  whole — do  you  pity  her  ? 
H 


MEHETABEL  ROGERS'S  CRANBERRY  SWAMP. 


MEHETABEL  ROGERS' S  CRANBERRY  SWAMP. 


I. 

proposes,  God  disposes ; "  so  says  an  old  prov 
erb.  Sometimes  women  propose. 

Mehetabel  Eogers  proposed  to  go  to  Boston  to-mor 
row.  She  had  been  there  once  before  in  her  life,  for 
Boston  is  a  long  way  off,  and  the  Old  Colony  Eailroad 
runs  only  to  Barnstable  as  yet ;  and  Mehetabel  Kogers 
lives  below  Chatham,  on  old  Cape  Cod. 

Captain  Eogers  was  light-house  keeper  at  Nausett. 
There  are  three  lights  there  to  look  after ;  they  stand  on 
a  high  bluff,  at  the  foot  of  which  washes  the  Atlantic, 
while  back  of  it  stretches  a  sandy  plain,  the  greater  part 
of  which  is  yet  "Congress  land,"  which  our  Uncle  Sam 
uel  does  not  find  it  easy  to  sell,  even  at  a  shilling  an  acre. 
Captain  Eogers  was  a  sailor,  that  you  might  see  at  the 
first  glance.  He  was  a  ship  captain,  not  a  militia  cap 
tain  ;  that  is  to  say,  he  had  been  a  ship  captain,  now  he 
was  a  shore  captain,  and  his  lights  were  his  ship.  It  made 
little  difference  to  him,  so  far  as  responsibility  went,  or 
work  either ;  for  though  he  had  no  longer  a  lee-shore  to 


174  Mehetabel  Roger s^s  Cranberry  Swamp. 


fear  for  himself,  every  easterly  gale  made  him  fidget  at 
his  lights,  thinking  of  the  poor  fellows  who  might  be 
warned  off  by  their  gleam ;  and  for  the  rest,  his  observa 
tions,  which  were  formerly  taken  at  noon,  were  now  made 
at  midnight;  where  he  would  before  have  got  a  pull 
on  the  main-sheet,  he  now  ordered  a  rub  of  the  lantern- 
glasses  ;  and  if  he  had  no  dead-reckoning  to  work  up,  he 
yet  kept  a  log,  no  light  job  to  an  old  tar  whose  fingers 
are  handier  at  a  long  splice  or  a  timber  hitch  than  at 
pot-hooks  and  hangers. 

Captain  Eogers  was  a  man  of  regular  habits,  for  you 
see,  a  light-house  keeper  is  a  responsible  person.  He  is 
not  like  a  Governor  of  a  State,  or  a  member  of  the  Cab 
inet,  who  has  all  night  in,  and  has  only  to  sign  letters,  and 
order  things  to  be  done  which  are  of  no  consequence 
when  they  are  done.  A  light-house  keeper  must  keep 
his  lights  bright,  and  if  he  should  be  a  careless  person, 
or  a  sleepy-head,  or,  perhaps,  even  a  lover  of  strong  drink, 
don't  you  see,  some  night  a  poor  mariner,  steering  for  his 
light  in  fullest  confidence,  would  r-un  his  ship  ashore,  and 
perhaps  lose  his  crew  as  well  as  his  cargo.  From  which 
you  will  quickly  gather  that  only  the  most  trusty  men 
in  the  State  ought  to  be  appointed  light-house  keepers, 
and  a  man  who  could  not  be  elected  hog-reeve  in  his 
town  ought  to  be  ashamed  of  himself  for  asking  the  Sec 
retary  of  the  Treasury,  who  knows  no  better,  poor  igno 
rant  creetur !  to  trust  him  with  a  light. 

I  advise  you  not  to  ask  Captain  Rogers  if  he  could  be 
elected  hog-reeve.  That  is  beside  the  matter. 

"  I  wish  you  warn't  goin7  to  Boston,"  said  the  Captain, 


Mehetabel  Rogers 's  Cranberry  Swamp.  175 


for  the  twentieth  time,  on  the  evening  of  the  day  before 
Aunt  Mehetabel  was  to  set  out.  She  was  packing  up, 
and  it  made  him  nervous  to  see  now  one  thing  and  then 
another,  now  a  comb,  and  then  a  piece  of  molasses  cake, 
and  then  a  pair  of  stockings,  slipped  into  the  carpet-sack 
which  was  to  accompany  the  good  lady  on  her  journey. 

"  Too  late,"  said  she,  catching  up  a  hymn-book,  which 
her  eye  happened  to  light  upon  just  then,  and  putting  it 
into  a  handy  pocket  in  the  all-containing  bag,  by  way  of 
light  reading. 

"Seems  to  break  up  every  thin'  so,"  groaned  Uncle 
Rogers.  "  I  don't  see  what's  the  use  of  Boston." 

"  You  ain't  goin',"  was  the  triumphant  reply,  as  a  shiny 
and  well-preserved  pair  of  shoes  were  hauled  out  of  a  cor 
ner  and  crammed  into  the  bag. 

Aunt  Mehetabel  was  determined  not  to  be  vexed  with 
the  old  man.  She  was  going  to  Boston ;  she  was  sure 
of  that,  and  why  should  she  lose  her  temper?  "  Men  is 
sich  poor,  helpless  creeturs.  Ef  they  don't  hev  every 
thin'  jest  so,  they'm  all  upsot,  'nd  no  more  use  'n  a  cod- 
hook  without  a  bait." 

"Now  then,  old  man,  there's  the  ile,  and  there's  the 
wick,  'nd  there's  yer  cloths  for  the  lanterns,  'nd  there's 
the  gal,  she  knows  how  to  cook 's  well 's  her  marm.  Now 
then,  let's  turn  in,  for  you've  got  to  drive  me  over  to  the 
stage  soon  's  you  put  out  your  lights  in  the  mornin'." 

The  gal's  name  was  Rachel,  and  she  was  pretty.  There 
are  a  good  many  pretty  girls  on  old  Cape  Cod ;  a  Cape 
man  once  told  me  in  confidence  that  in  all  his  voyages 
he  had  not  seen  such  women  as  they  breed  on  the  Cape, 


176  Mehetabel  Rogers 's  Cranberry  Swamp. 


and  I  think  he  was  right.  Kachel  was  not  only  pretty ; 
she  could  cook,  as  her  mother  said;  she  could  iron  a 
shirt,  and  wash  it  too;  she  knew  how  to  clean  the  lan 
tern-glasses,  all  except  the  last  finishing  touch,  which  the 
old  Captain  administered  himself,  with  a  cloth  locked  up 
in  a  separate  locker. 

Eachel  was  "hangin7  round  the  room,"  her  mother 
said,  a  's  though  she  expected  a  feller."  Poor  child !  her 
"  feller  "  was  in  Boston,  getting  ready  for  a  voyage  to  the 
Bank  Querau  after  cod ;  and  Kachel  was  "  hangin'  round  " 
in  hopes  that  she  might,  at  the  last  moment,  gain  per 
mission  of  her  mother  to  go  along  in  the  stage  to-mor 
row. 

Aleck  Nickerson  was  captain  of  the  Lucy  Ann}  banker; 
and  the  Lucy  Ann  was  getting  her  outfit  in  Boston  for 
an  early  start  to  the  Banks.  Captain  Aleck  was  deter 
mined  to  fish  for  "  high  line  "  out  of  Chatham ;  it  was  his 
first  voyage  as  master,  and  he  was  what  they  call  a  "fishy 
man  " — not  a  man  given  to  incredible  stories,  but  one  who 
meant  to  fill  his  ship,  or  to  "  wet  his  salt,"  as  they  say. 

He  had  selected  a  good  crew,  and  his  brother  was  his 
mate.  Down  in  Chatham,  people  said  that  the  Lucy  Ann 
was  likely  to  come  home  with  a  good  stint  of  fish. 

It  used  to  puzzle  the  gossips  which  of  the  two  it  was 
that  Eachel  Eogers  favored,  whether  Aleck,  or  Mulford 
his  brother.  I  am  not  sure  that  she  knew  herself.  Aleck 
had  committed  the  indiscretion  of  almost  offering  himself 
to  her.;  and  her  mother  had  been  rash  enough  to  say 
once  that  Aleck  Nickerson  was  a  "  likely  feller ; "  which 
makes  me  think  that  Mulford  had  the  best  chance 


Mehetabcl  Rogers 's  Cranberry  Swamp.  177 


just  then.  But  the  two  were  always  together ;  and  some 
people  pretended  to  say  that  they  went  courting  in  com 
mon,  and  that  either  would  have  been  satisfied  with  the 
other's  success. 

"  Cape  folk"  are  not  cold-blooded,  but  they  are  care 
ful.  There  is  an  old  rule,  never  to  dance  with  the  mate 
if  you  can  dance  with  the  captain,  which  is  sound  enough 
so  far  as  I  know.  Some  young  women,  who  live  by  rule, 
follow  this  one  among  others,  and  I  have  known  them  to 
profit  by  its  observance.  In  a  cold  country  and  a  barren, 
where  bread  and  butter  are  not  over-plentiful,  the  captain's 
house  has  perhaps  attractions  which  the  mate's  has  not ; 
and  women,  as  every  body  knows,  have  to  live  a  great 
deal  in-doors.  But  where  promotion  goes  by  merit  the 
captain  is  apt  to  be  the  better  man ;  and,  so  being,  he 
has  a  right  to  the  prettiest  girl,  which  no  pretty  girl  I 
ever  knew  would  dispute.  So  that,  perhaps,  after  all, 
Captain  Aleck  had  the  best  chance. 

Aunt  Mehetabel  arrived  safely  in  Boston,  and  at  once 
took  charge  of  the  Lucy  Ann's  cabin.  She  had  a  plan 
to  talk  over  with.  Captain  Aleck,  a  plan  which  had  oc 
curred  to  her  during  her  last  visit  to  Harwich.  At  this 
time  the  gradual  failure  of  the  fish,  and  the  somewhat 
rapid  increase  of  the  population  of  the  Cape,  caused  a 
good  deal  of  uneasiness  to  the  people  of  that  thrifty  re 
gion.  All  the  young  men  and  most  of  the  old  fellows 
are  fishermen;  the  whole  living  of  the  Cape  is  taken 
from  the  ocean.  Hitherto  there  had  been  abundance  for 
all,  according  to  their  frugal  expectations ;  but  now  the 
prospect  grew  dark.  The  great  fish  days  off  Chatham 

H2 


178  Mehetabd  Rogers 's  Cranberry  Swamp. 


were  no  longer  what  they  had  been  in  former  years. 
The  fleet,  which  was  formerly  always  ':  hauled  up  "  before 
Thanksgiving  Day,  now  cruised  anxiously  after  the  miss 
ing  schools  till  far  into  December,  and  could  not  find 
them ;  and  the  Banks  no  longer  furnished  codfish  in  the 
wonted  abundance.  And  yet  every  Cape  boy  is  a  born 
sailor  and  fisherman.  They  are  a  web-footed  race ;  and, 
to  add  to  the  difficulty,  a  curiously  home-loving  race. 
Any  other  people  would  have  emigrated,  The  California 
and  Oregon  coasts  yield  fish  in  such  abundance  as  no 
Cape  man  ever  even  dreamed  of,  and  to  a  sailor  the  world 
is  open.  But  to  these  curious  Cape  men  there  is  no  place 
in  the  world  so  beautiful  or  so  dear  as  their  own  flat, 
sandy,  tide-washed  waste,  where  the  corn  scarcely  grows 
breast-high,  and  the  sand  is  ankle-deep  in  the  best  culti 
vated  garden.  Once  Uncle  Shubael  Bobbins  drove  me 
out  in  his  hay- wagon,  and  coming  to  a  knoll  a  little  higher 
and  a  little  greener  than  the  surrounding  flats,  the  en 
thusiastic  old  fellow  cried  out,  in  great  exultation,  "  Let 
us  stop  here  and  look  around :  far 's  you  Ve  travelled,  I 
know  you  never  saw  so  fine  a  piece  of  country  as  this !  " 
Place  him  where  you  will,  in  the  most  fertile  and  beauti 
ful  part  of  the  globe  if  you  please,  and  the  Cape  Cod  man 
will  sigh  wearily  for  his  sand,  his  pine  needles,  and  the 
moan  of  the  ocean  on  his  flat  beach.  That  is  in  the  na 
ture  of  the  creature,  and  you  can  not  change  it. 

Given,  then,  that  no  one  would  move  away ;  that  all 
were  bent  on  fishing ;  that,  in  fact,  this  was  the  only  pos 
sible  employment  for  the  mass  of  the  people,  the  single 
source  of  their  prosperity ;  and  finally  that  there  were 


Mehetabsl  Rogers'*  Cranberry  Swamp.  179 


not  fish  for  all  the  fishermen :  and  you  will  understand 
that  the  old  folks  began  to  fear  a  famine  for  the  next 
generation,  and  to  talk  drearily  of  the  fading  glories  of 
the  Cape. 

Just  at  this  time  an  ingenious  Yankee  invented  the 
cranberry  culture,  and  saved  the  Cape.  The  cranberry 
is  a  fruit  which  grows  best  on  swamp  lands  which  can 
be  overflowed  at  will  with  fresh  water.  It  is  an  amphib 
ious  berry,  which  dwindles  arid  becomes  diseased  if  de 
prived  of  an  occasional  soaking.  It  is  a  God-send  there 
fore  to  a  people  living  in  the  midst  of  fresh- water  ponds, 
and  a  third  of  whose  land  lay  in  worthless  swamp,  dear 
at  a  dollar  an  acre,  useless  to  all,  and  owned  only  because 
it  was  a  part  of  the  place. 

Enoch  Doane  read  about  cranberry  swamps  in  his 
agricultural  paper,  saw  that  the  berries  were  in  good  de 
mand  in  the  Boston  market,  made  a  careful  calculation 
overnight,  and  next  morning  rode  out  and  bought  a 
dozen  acres  of  the  worst-looking  swamp  land  in  the 
neighborhood  of  Harwich.  It  took  him  a  year  to  pre 
pare  a  ten-acre  lot.  He  had  to  cut  drains,  to  build  proper 
flood-gates,  to  clear  the  land  of  the  rank  growth  of  scrub 
oak  which  covered  it,  to  cart  away  a  foot  deep  of  the 
sour  top  earth,  to  carry  on  new  soil,  to  cover  that  with 
a  layer  of  white  beach  sand,  and  lastly  to  set  out  his  ber 
ries.  He  laid  out  three  hundred  dollars  on  each  acre  of 
his  "patch,"  and  the  neighbors  united  to  call  him  a  fool. 
In  three  years  he  was  a  rich  man,  swamp  lands  were  worth 
fifty  dollars  per  acre,  and  the  Cape  was  saved  from  star 
vation. 


180  Mehetabel  Roger s's  Cranberry  Swamp. 


Now  Aunt  Mehetabel  had  heard  of  Enoch  Doane's 
folly,  which  was  in  every  body's  mouth.  She  knew  he 
was  a  shrewd  old  fellow ;  and  one  day  she  rode  down  to 
Harwich  in  the  stage  to  inspect  his  operations.  She  came 
back  the  next  day  in  a  fluster,  and  before  she  ate  her  din 
ner  had  selected  the  site  for  a  cranberry  patch  of  her  own. 

The  question  was,  how  to  raise  money  enough  to  get 
a  couple  of  acres  under  cultivation.  The  old  light-house 
keeper  had  money  in  bank ;  but  he  plainly  told  his  wife 
he  meant  to  keep  it  there ;  if  Enoch  Doane  was  a  fool  he 
was  not ;  every  body  knew  that  cranberries  would  pres 
ently  be  worth  no  more  in  Boston  than  beach  plums; 
and  then  where  would  all  the  dollars  be  which  silly  peo 
ple  buried  in  swamps !  Fortunately  for  Aunt  Mehetabel 
the  berry  fever  had  not  yet  got  so  far  down  as  Nausett, 
and  she  was  able  to  buy  her  two  acres  of  well  selected 
but  tangled  swamp  for  little  more  than  a  song.  Her  own 
savings,  from  knitting  socks,  and  entertaining  chance 
strangers,  were  sufficient  for  that.  But  how  to  get  it  into 
cultivation  ?  How  to  clear  it  of  that  mass  of  scrub  oak 
and  rank  stringy  grass  which  now  made  it  an  impregna 
ble  fortress?  How  to  pay  for  drains,  and  flood-gates,  for 
the  much  digging,  and  carting,  and  hoeing,  and  planting, 
which  must  precede  a  crop  ?  Captain  Aleck  Nickerson 
had  a  little  money  in  bank,  and  from  him,  as  one  of  her 
nearest  neighbors  and  confidential  friends,  she  resolved 
to  get  help.  All  winter  she  had  done  her  best  to  infect 
him  with  her  own  enthusiasm ;  and  now  she  had  come  to 
Boston  to  make  a  last  effort  with  him. 

"Ef  I  had  jist  five  hundred  dollars  I'd  hev  the  pesky 


Mehetabel  Rogers' s  Cranberry  Swamp.  181 


swamp  all  cleared  and  sot  out  before  you  cum  back  with 
your  first  fare,"  said  she. 

"But  I  want  to  build  my  house,  Aunt  Mehetabel,"  re 
plied  the  Captain. 

"  Ye  hain't  got  nobody  to  put  in  it,- Aleck." 

"  Never  you  mind  about  that,"  retorted  the  Captain 
with  a  smile ;  "  how's  Eachel  ?  " 

"Kachel's  ready  to  wait,"  said  she.  "Besides,  you 
haven't  asked  her," 

"Wait  till  I  come  back,  high  line,"  said  Aleck,  smil 
ing. 

"  By  that  time  I  can  hev  the  patch  clear  's  the  palm 
o'  yer  hand." 

"  You  won't  get  your  money  back  in  three  year." 

"  But  the  first  crop  '11  build  you  two  housen,  Aleck." 

"I  don't  want  but  one,  old  lady,  and  a  pooty  gal  to 
live  in  it." 

"  You  young  fellers  is  always  thinkin'  'bout  pooty  gals. 
I  swan,  ef  I  was  a  man  I'd  think  o'  somethin'  else." 

"Cranberries,  Aunt  Mehetabel?"  queried  Captain 
Aleck,  who  was  lazy  and  inclined  to  tease,  and  besides 
owed  a  grudge  to  the  old  woman  because  she  had  left 
Eachel  at  home. 

"  Yes,  cranberries,"  she  replied ;  "  cranberries  is  wuth 
ten  dollars  a  berril,  'nd  'n  acre  '11  yield  fifty  berrils  easy." 

"  And  the  worms  '11  eat  'em  before  ye  pick  'em,"  said 
Aleck. 

"  And  yer  wife  '11  git  cross  'nd  ugly,"  said  Aunt  Me 
hetabel.  . 

"  And  half  crazy  'bout  cranberry  swamp,"  said  Aleck, 


1 82  Mehetabd  Roger s^s  Cranberry  Swamp. 


with  an  irrepressible  chuckle,  swinging  himself  suddenly 
from  the  transom,  where  he  was  lying,  through  the  open 
sky -light  on  deck. 

"  You'm  a  fool,  Aleck  Nickerson  !"  screamed  the  old 
woman  after  him.  "  O  Lordy,  what  fools  men  be  !  Here, 
you  boy,  ye  lazy  hound,  split  some  wood  quick :  here's 
ten  o'clock,  'nd  no  dinner  on  the  fire.  See  'f  I  don't 
worry  him  into  it ! "  she  grumbled  to  herself,  as  she  pour 
ed  a  mess  of  beans  into  the  pot. 

Captain  Aleck  "  had  more  'n  half  a  mind  to  do  it,"  as 
he  said  to  himself.  But  "  better  look  twice  before  you 
jump  once;"  and  he  went  into  the  hold  and  began  to 
roll  salt  barrels  and  water  barrels  about,  and  help  stow 
the  ship  for  her  voyage,  "  so 's  to  kind  o'  settle  down  his 
idees." 

It  is  unnecessary  to  recount  the  further  strife  between 
these  two ;  the  reader  already  knows,  if  he  has  a  prop 
er  notion  of  what  an  ambitious  middle-aged  woman 
can  do  if  she  once  sets  her  heart  upon  a  matter,  that 
Aunt  Mehetabel  won  the  battle.  The  Captain  was  not 
averse  to  the  speculation ;  he  had  five  hundred  dollars 
laid  aside  on  interest ;  he  had  no  doubt  of  the  success 
of  the  enterprise.  Cranberries  were  a  "sure  thing,"  as 
he  well  knew.  The  difficulty  was  here :  he  had  deter 
mined  to  build  himself  a  house  that  fall ;  the  place  was 
chosen  and  already  bought ;  and  he  intended  that  while 
the  house  was  building  he  would  court  Eachel  Eogers, 
and  when  it  was  finished  he  would  marry  her  and  stay 
at  home  that  winter,  as  he  could  easily  afford  to  do  if  he 
had  only  moderate  luck  on  the  Banks.  The  prospect 


Mehetabel  Rogers' s  Cranberry  Swamp.  183 


was  an  alluring  one;  like  most  of  the  enterprising 
young  fellows  on  the  Cape,  he  had  been  going  "  south," 
that  is  to  say,  to  the  West  Indies,  or  the  Brazils,  or 
Demerara,  or  Mobile,  every  winter,  to  make  up  the  year's 
work ;  and  the  thought  of  staying  at  home,  in  a  snug 
house  of  his  own,  all  winter,  with  a  pretty  young  wife, 
while  other  fellows  were  freezing  their  fingers  and  toes  on 
the  coast,  or  toiling  among  molasses  hogsheads  or  cotton 
bales  in  the  South,  was  one  not  lightly  to  be  given  up. 
But  "you  must  keep  on  the  right  side  of  your  mother- 
in-law — at  least  till  you  marry  your  wife,"  says  an  old 
Cape  proverb ;  and  Captain  Aleck  gave  way,  and  made 
up  his  mind  to  go  another,  and  perhaps  another  winter 
South,  and  build  his  house  the  grander  when  the  cran 
berries  came  in.  As  he  sailed  out  of  -the  harbor  Aunt 
Mehetabel  stood  on  the  dock,  her  precious  bank  bills 
tightly  clutched  rn  her  hand. 

"  Eemember  us  both  to  Eachel,  Auntie,"  said  Aleck, 
pointing  toward  his  brother  on  the  forecastle,  "  and  don't 
lose  the  ribbon  I  sent  her ; "  and  so  they  sailed  off  for 
the  Banks. 

I  would  not  like  to  have  been  one  of  the  poor  fellows 
whom  Aunt  Mehetabel  employed  to  work  on  her  cran 
berry  patch.  She  looked  after  them  sharply.  She  did 
not  spare  her  own  hands  from  the  toil,  and  you  may 
be  sure  no  one  else  was  spared.  Even  the  old  Captain 
was  induced  to  devote  his  spare  hours  to  the  work,  which 
went  on  rapidly,  though  slowly  enough  to  the  old  wom 
an's  eager  temper.  She  was  determined  to  surprise  Cap 
tain  Aleck  on  his  return ;  and  before  the  end  of  July 


184  Mehetabel  Roger 3*8  Cranberry  Swamp. 


the  whole  two-acre  lot  was  cleared  and  fenced,  and  a 
small  part  of  it  was  already  of  that  strange  unearthly 
white  which  surprises  and  disgusts  one  who  sees  for  the 
first  time  a  Cape  Cod  cranberry  plantation. 

The  drains  were  neatly  cut,  the  flood-gates  securely 
built,  and  before  the  autumn  frosts  she  hoped  to  have  the 
whole  ground  in  readiness  for  planting. 

"  Miss  Kogers  is  a  hard  boss,"  grumbled  the  two  men 
who  cleared,  and  dug,  and  carted  fresh  earth  on  to  this 
waste;  but  "Miss  Kogers"  was  a  general  who  led  her 
troops,  and  looked  very  sharply  after  skulkers. 


II. 

Meantime,  while  Eachel  cooked,  and  washed,  and  iron 
ed,  and  kept  house  like  a  well-trained  Cape  girl,  the 
Lucy  Ann  was  fast  anchored  on  the  Banks,  and  her  brace 
of  lovers  were  such  unsightly  objects,  covered  with  fish 
gurry,  clad  in  oil-skins,  stamping  about  in  huge  sea-boots, 
and  enveloped  in  barvil  and  sou'wester  and  awkward 
fish-mittens,  that  she  would  scarcely  have  recognized 
them.  There  are  Sundays  on  fish-ground,  when  all 
hands  shave,  and  wash,  and  clean-shirt  themselves — if 
the  weather  happens  to  be  fine,  that  is  to  say.  But  if  it 
is  rough,  a  pipe  and  an  old  novel  and  the  warm  bunk  in 
the  cabin  are  preferred;  and  the  most  that  is  done  to 
renovate  the  outer  man  is  to  wash  in  warm  water  and 
wrap  in  clean  rags  the  sore  fingers  which  a  good  fish 
day  produces. 

Aleck  Nickerson  was  commonly  a  lucky  man;   he 


MehetaM  Rogers' s  Cranberry  Swamp.  185 


struck  fish  if  any  body  did.  He  lifted  his  anchors  less 
often  than  most  men;  and  he  had  a  crew  that  could 
catch  fish  if  any  were  within  reach  of  their  skillfully  con 
trived  baits.  But  this  time  his  usual  luck  seemed  to  for 
sake  him.  He  dropped  his  cod-lead  in  vain ;  "  picking 
fishing,"  one  fish  in  an  hour,  and  small  at  that,  was  the 
best  which  fell  in  his  way.  Nothing  is  so  disheartening 
as  poor  luck  in  fishing ;  men  lose  even  their  skill,  as 
their  confidence  oozes  out  at  their  fingers'  end ;  and  it  is 
only  the  most  sagacious  who  have  the  wit  to  keep  their 
temper,  and  saw  their  lines  on  the  rail  with  the  patience 
which  is  sure  to  win  in  the  end. 

One  day  Captain  Aleck  anchored  and  struck  fish ;  but 
not  in  such  abundance  as  he  desired. 

"I'll  go  down  in  the  boat;  lower  away  there,  two  or 
three  of  you,"  said  he,  at  last.  "  I'll  try  'em  a  little 
way  off;  it's  clear  weather." 

The  day  was  almost  cloudless,  as  fair  and  smooth  as  a 
calm  June  day  off  Sandy  Hook.  The  boat  was  lowered, 
and  Captain  Aleck  jumped  into  it  with  a  bucket  full  of 
good  baits  and  his  codcraft,  and  pulled  away  about  a 
mile  off,  where  he  had  no  sooner  dropped  his  lead  than 
he  got  a  bite.  The  men  on  board  watched  him,  greedily, 
for  half  an  hour,  sawing  their  own  lines  the  while  across 
the  rail,  when,  suddenly,  they  too  "  struck  a  school,"  and 
in  a  moment  every  man  was  hauling  in  a  twenty  pound 
er.  The  Captain  was  forgotten  in  the  excitement,  until 
the  cook  chanced  to  stick  his  head  out  of  the  companion- 
way,  who  cried  out,  "  Why,  it's  as  thick  as  mush ! " 

So  it  was.     The  treacherous  fog  had  settled  down  all 


1 86  Mehetabel  Roger s^s  Cranberry  Swamp. 


at  once,  as  it  often  does  on  the  Banks ;  and  where  a  short 
half-hour  ago  all  was  clear  as  a  bell,  now  you  could  not 
see  the  jib-boom  end.  "  Where's  the  Skipper?  "  was  the 
question,  as  all  hands  held  up  a  moment  and  stared  in 
each  other's  faces. 

"King  the  bell,  quick,  some  one!"  said  Mulford. 
"  Skipper's  all  right,  he'll  be  along  soon  's  he  hears  the 
sound."  Nevertheless,  Mulford  went  forward  himself, 
and  with  an  iron  belaying-pin  beat  lustily  on  the  fluke 
of  the  spare  anchor. 

"  Hold  up  a  minute,"  he  said,  presently  ;  "  listen,  every 
body  ! "  The  men  stopped  talking  and  bent  their  ears 
to  the  rail ;"  but  they  heard  no  plashing  of  oars,  no  shout 
through  the  white  darkness. 

"  Shout ;  sing,  out  all  together,  now ! "  ordered  Mul 
ford.  They  "  sung  out"  from  full  throats  ;  then  listened 
again,  eagerly,  for  an  answering  cry,  but  none  came. 

"  Eing  the  bell  there,  somebody,  and  ring  loud,"  said 
Mulford  ;  "  he'll  be  here,  directly." 

Somebody  rung,  and  somebody  beat  the  anchor,  while 
another  man  climbed  to  the  mast-head,  to  see  if  he  could 
peer  above  the  fog,  and  perhaps  beyond  it ;  but  he  came 
down  shaking  his  head,  and  declaring  that  it  was  thicker 
up  there  than  down  on  deck. 

Mulford  slid  down  on  the  dolphin-striker  and  stretched 
his  head  along  the  surface  of  the  ocean,  hoping  to  get  a 
glimpse  in  that  way,  but  in  vain. 

"  Sh — sh ! "  said  Uncle  David  Meeker,  suddenly  ;  "  I 
heard  a  cry."  In  a  moment  all  was  still,  and  presently 
there  came  a  wail ;  but  it  was  from  the  mast-head,  and 


Mehetabd  Roger s^s  Cranberry  Swamp.  187 


was  the  lonely  voice  of  a  sea-bird  welcoming  the  com 
panionship  of  man  in  the  thick  fog. 

"It's  only  a  gull,"  said  some  one. 

"  Good  God,  this  is  dreadful !  Shout  again,  men ; 
sing  out  loud,  every  man.  What  would  mother  say  if 
she  was  here  ?  "  muttered  Mulford. 

They  shouted  again  and  again  ;  they  rung  the  bell  and 
beat  the  anchor ;  they  listened  as  men  listen  on  whose 
hearing  depends  the  life  of  a  shipmate. 

"  How  did  the  boat  bear?"  asked  the  cook. 

" Nor-north-east,"  was  the  reply.  "Let's  up  anchor 
and  look  after  him ;  may  be  he  laid  to  his  line  when  the 
fog  come  up." 

"Not  yet,"  was  Mulford's  reply;  "he  might  have 
drifted  apast  us,  and  then  we'd  be  leaving  him." 

But  now  the  wind  began  to  sigh  through  the  shrouds, 
and  the  little  Lucy  Ann  began  to  roll  with  the  swell 
which  foretold  an  approaching  gale.  Her  crew  looked 
at  each  other  with  solemn  faces.  In  such,  a  fog,  once 
miss  the  direction,  once  get  out  of  ear-shot,  and  the 
chances  are  slim  of  ever  finding  your  ship  again. 

They  went  to  the  windlass  presently  and  hove  out  the 
anchor,  set  the  mainsail  and  jib,  and  cruised  about,  mak 
ing  short  tacks  through  the  fog,  and  shouting  and  listen 
ing  by  turns.  All  hands  remained  on  deck ;  the  cook 
in  vain  cried  out,  "Sate  ye,  one  half" — the  customary 
call  to  dinner  on  a  Cape  fishing  schooner;  the  dinner 
was  put  away  untasted ;  the  growing  anxiety  for  their 
Captain  kept  every  man  at  his  post.  The  fog  did  not 
lift ;  it  began  to  drive,  thick  and  fast,  as  the  north-east 


1 88  Mehetabd  Rogers 's  Cranberry  Swamp. 


wind  blew  up ;  and  presently  the  swash  of  the  sea 
against  the  bows  became  so  loud  as  to  make  any  cry  of  a 
human  voice  inaudible.  Then  night  came  on,  and  at 
last,  after  running  half  a  dozen  miles  dead  to  leeward, 
the  anchor  was  let  go,  a  double  watch  set,  and  the  re 
mainder  of  the  crew  went  below  to  their  berths  in  silence. 

And  thus  Captain  Aleck  was  "lost  to  the  Lucy  Ann. 
To  lose  a  man  at  sea,  and  that  man  the  Captain,  the 
leader  of  the  small  band,  casts  a  gloom  over  the  whole 
voyage.  Mulford  was  a  capable  fellow,  he  knew  the  fish- 
ground  as  well  as  his  brother ;  and  by  a  curious  turn  of 
luck,  when  the  north-easter  blew  itself  out,  the  cod  seem 
ed  to  seek  the  little  vessel  whose  master  was  drifting  no 
one  knew  whither  or  how.  The  men  drew  in  their  fish 
in  silence;  the  wonted  joke  was  omitted;  and  every 
body  heaved  a  sigh  of  relief  when  at  last,  in  three  weeks 
after  the  loss  of  Captain  Aleck,  the  last  barrel  of  salt 
was  wet,  the  anchor  was  hove  up  for  the  last  time,  and 
all  sail  set  to  a  fair  wind  for  home. 

And  now  came  the  most  wretched  days  for  Mulford. 
In  the  hurry  of  fishing,  and  the  anxiety  of  caring  for  the 
vessel,  his  mind  had  been  too  fully  occupied  to  leave 
space  for  thought  about  his  brother.  But  now,  with  a 
fair  wind  to  fill  the  sails,  and  no  labor  except  to  work 
up  his  reckoning,  he  began  to  think,  for  the  first  time, 
that  he  was  to  be  the  bearer  of  ill-news — and  such  ill- 
news.  How  should  he  tell  the  mother  who  was  living 
quietly  and  happily  at  home,  waiting  in  confidence  for 
her  son's  return,  proudly  thinking  of  him  as  smartest 
and  best  among  the  young  men  on  her  "shore"  or 


Mehetabcl  Rogers' s  Cranberry  Swamp.  189 


neighborhood?  How  should  he  go  to  Kachel  alone — he 
who  had  never  visited  her  except  in  company  with 
Aleck? 

And  yet  it  was  pleasant  to  think  that  now  he  might 
win  Eachel  for  himself.  He  hated  himself  for  the 
thought — and  yet  he  thought  it.  You  can  not  help 
thinking,  that's  the  mischief  of  it ;  and  in  the  midst  of 
the  most  real  sorrow  this  ugly  ray  of  comfort  obtruded 
itself  till  poor  Mulford,  half-distracted,  wished  the  girl 
at  the  deuce,  whose  pretty  face  made  him  indulge  in  a 
thought  which  was  mean,  as  he  felt,  and  which  had  no 
proper  place  in  his  grieving  heart.  So  long  as  Aleck 
lived  Mulford  had  been  content  that  Kachel  should  be 
his  sister-in-law ;  it  was  not  till  now  it  occurred  to  him 
that  she  could  be  his  own. wife.  Why  not?  and  yet, 
why  ?  Should  he  take  advantage  by  his  brother's  death  ? 
Could  he  ever  forgive  himself  the  joy  of  such  a  wed 
ding? 

Mulford  was  not  the  first  generous-hearted  man  tor 
mented  by  such  thoughts  of  unwelcome  compensations 
for  a  great  sorrow.  And  yet  how  unreasonable,  said  a 
voice  in  his  heart.  What  is  done  is  done ;  Aleck  was 
lost :  should  he,  for  a  punctilio,  cast  away  what  he  felt 
would  be  a  happiness  for  him  ?  Should  he  leave  to  some 
stranger  that  which  Aleck  would  have  most  certainly 
preferred  him  to  have,  under  the  circumstances  ?  Was 
he  not  his  brother's  heir  ?  He  would  inherit  his  savings 
— why  not  also  the  wife  of  his  heart  ? 


190  Mehetabcl  Roger s^s  Cranberry  Swamp. 


III. 

When  Melietabel  Eogers  heard  the  news  she  was 
"  thrown  all  in  a  fluster,"  according  to  her  own  account. 
"  What  '11  Miss  Nickerson  do  ?  "  she  cried.  "  What  '11  Ka- 
chel  say,  poor  gal  ?  0  Lordy,  what  '11  become  of  the 
cranberry  patch  ?  " 

This  last  question  was  the  most  important.  She  had 
given  a  summer  to  that  barren  swamp,  and  now  it  was 
a  fair,  smooth,  chalky,  ugly,  but  very  promising  plain, 
with  ditches  run  through  it,  and  water  ready  to  cover  it. 
She  had  spent  the  enormous  sum  of  four  hundred  and 
fifty  dollars  upon  it ;  and  she  was  scared  at  the  outlay, 
for  whose  return  she  and  her  partner  would  have  so 
long  to  wait.  She  had  thought  with  dread  of  the  ac 
count  she  would  have  to  give  to  Aleck,  and  now  she  must 
render  this  account  to  Mulford — or  perhaps,  worse  yet, 
to  strangers,  executors,  lawyers !  men  who  were  sure  to 
understand  nothing  except  that  a  frightful  sum  of  mon 
ey  had  been  wasted,  and  no  sign  of  profit  appeared. 

"  May  be  Aleck  was  picked  up ! "  she  at  last  exclaimed, 
ran  for  her  bonnet,  and  set  off  for  the  Widow  dicker- 
son's  to  communicate  her  hopeful  doubt.  The  two  old 
women  hugged  the  sweet  thought  to  their  hearts,  and 
watched  daily  for  some  news  of  the  lost  Captain.  But 
no  news  came ;  the  first-fare  men  were  all  in  and  out 
again,  and  no  tidings  were  heard;  in  Cape  Ann  no  one 
had  seen  or  heard  of  a  missing  boat;  the  second-fare 
men  got  home  and  fitted  out  for  a  fall  cruise  after  mack- 


Mehetabel  Rogers 's  Cranberry  Swamp.  191 


erel.  At  last  it  was  time  to  give  up  Aleck  for  lost ;  no 
hope  remained ;  and  when  the  last  banker  was  hauled 
up  for  the  winter,  Mrs.  Nickerson  put  on  black  and  gave 
up  her  boy  for  lost. 

Eachel  Eogers,  too,  was  clad  in  mourning,  but  under 
neath  the  black  stuff  gown  there  beat  a  very  contented 
little  heart.  So  long  as  the  two  brothers  came  courting 
together  she  had  had  no  heart  in  the  courtship.  While 
Aleck  was  near  she  would  have  surrendered  to  him,  be 
cause  he  was  the  older  of  the  two,  and  came  with  an  air 
which  was  that  of  a  man  used  to  have  his  own  way,  and 
to  be  helped  first.  Besides  he  was  nearest  to  that  nest- 
building  which,  in  Cape  Cod  life,  as  among  the  birds,  pre 
cedes  the  wedding.  But  as  Mulford  and  Eachel  sat  to 
gether,  talking  of  the  brother  lost,  she  began  to  find  her 
heart  warming  to  the  brother  living ;  and  their  common 
sorrow  opened  the  way  to  a  common  confidence  of  love. 

When  Aleck  was  given  up  Eachel  was  promised  to 
Mulford;  and,  to  Aunt  Mehetabel's  satisfaction,  the 
young  fellow  proved  to  have  great  faith  in  cranber 
ries.  He  insisted  that  the  plants  should  be  set  out  that 
fall  yet ;  and  before  the  pond  froze  over  the  patch  had 
been  flooded.  The  work  was  done ;  and  during  the  win 
ter  she  rested  and  was  thankful ;  not  only  thankful,  in 
deed,  but  triumphant.  She  dragged  the  old  Captain 
down  to  see  her  work ;  she  boasted  in  his  ears  of  the 
bushels  of  crimson  berries  which  should  reward  her  la 
bors  and  justify  the  outlay.  She  had  scarcely  patience 
to  wait  till  spring. 

The  spring  came ;  Mulford  was  off  to  the  Banks  in  a 


192  Mchetabel  Roger s^s  Cranberry  Swamp. 


new  vessel ;  the  swamp  was  drained,  and  the  cranberries 
were  in  bloom ;  when,  one  day,  Captain  Aleck  Nicker- 
son  walked  into  his  mother's  house,  sat  down  on  a  chair 
in  the  kitchen,  and  said,  "How's  all  at  home?" 

The  poor  mother  thought  at  first  she  saw  a  ghost,  but 
when  she  felt  her  boy's  arms  around  her  she  .fell  away 
in  a  happy  swoon.  While  Aleck  was  yet  busy  with  her 
came  in  to  these  two — Each  el  Eogers.  She  gave  a  little 
scream  of  terror  when  she  saw  her  old  lover,  and,  obey 
ing  the  first  impulse,  ran  out  of  the  house.  But  pres 
ently  she  turned  and  came  back.  She  could  not  leave 
Captain  Aleck  alone  with  his  fainting  mother ;  he  need 
ed  help ;  and  for  the  rest — she  must  see  him  at  some 
time.  But  as  she  walked  slowly  back  to  the  door,  how 
her  heart  hardened  toward  the  poor  fellow  within ! 
"  What  business  had  he  to  come  back?"  she  was  saying 
to  herself. 

"  Glad  to  see  you've  come  back  safe,  Captain  Nicker- 
son,"  she  said  to  Aleck  as  she  stepped  into  the  kitchen 
again. 

"  All  right,  Kachel,"  said  he,  looking  up.  "  But  first 
let's  get  the  old  woman  to  rights.  I  hope  my  droppin' 
in  on  her  hain't  killed  her." 

The  poor  old  mother  presently  came  to  herself.  She 
clung  to  her  son,  whom  the  deep  had  given  up ;  but  as 
she  gathered  her  thoughts  in  order,  and  saw  Eachel 
standing  there,  with  stony  face,  her  joy  was  distracted  by 
the  thought  of  the  changes  which  a  year  had  produced. 

"  We  thought  you  were  dead,  boy,"  said  she,  fondly 
smoothing  his  hair. 


Mehetabcl  Roger s^s  Cranberry  Swamp.  193 


"You  see  I'm  as  live  as  any  man  of  my  size  and 
weight,"  replied  Aleck,  shaking  himself  to  prove  that  he 
was  real  flesh  and  blood. 

"  Go  home,  Eachel,  and  tell  your  mother,"  said  she, 
dismissing  the  young  girl,  who  turned  and  went  out  si 
lently. 

"What's  the  matter  with  Eachel?"  asked  Captain 
Aleck.  "  She  don't  seem  glad  to  see  me  back." 

"  She  thought  you  was  lost,  my  son." 

"And  then?" 

"  She's  promised  to  Mulford,  my  son,"  said  the  old 
woman,  looking  at  him  anxiously.  "  But  oh,  Aleck,  I'm 
so  happy !  Don't  mind  her.  Look  at  me.  It  was  so 
weary  without  you,  boy." 

Captain  Aleck  sat  himself  down  silently  in  a  chair 
beside  her.  It  was  not  such  a  coming  home  as  he  had 
looked  forward  to. 

"Where's  Mulford,  mother?"  he  asked,  after  awhile. 

"He's  got  a  new  vessel,  and  he's  gone  to  the  Banks." 

"Did  he  do  well  last  year?" 

"Yes,  he  was  lucky.  He  made  money.  But  he 
grieved  for  you,  Aleck ;  it  was  a  blow  to  him." 

"  And  Kachel's  promised  to  him  ?  " 

"  Yes,  boy.  But  what  makes  you  sit  there  so  solemn  ? 
Why  don't  you  look  to  me  ?  Don't  you  see  I'm  glad 
you've  come  home?" 

Her  old  eyes  filled  with  tears  of  longing  love.  Hard- 
featured  she  was,  hard-handed,  wrinkled,  faded,  with  a 
harsh,  cracked  voice — now  curiously  soft  and  womanly. 
She  looked  at  him  as  though  she  feared  he  would  fly  out 

I 


f94  Mehetabel  Rogers 's  Cranberry  Swamp. 


of  the  window  ;  she  studied  the  shadows  flitting  across  his 
dark  face  as  though  her  life  depended  upon  his  humor. 

"  Come,  sit  you  down  close  by  me,"  she  said,  as  he  be 
gan  to  walk  about  the  room,  and  examine  the  walls  and 
windows,  and  the  dishes  in  the  pantry.  "  I  can't  bear 
you  out  of  my  sight,  Aleck.  What's  the  use  of  bother- 
in'  about  that  gal  ?  I'm  your  mother,  that  bore  you,  'nd 
nussed  you,  'nd  kerried  you  round  in  my  arms.  I  love 
you,  Aleck;  I'm  glad  you've  come  home.  I've  got 
more  right  to  you  than  any  gal  on  the  Cape." 

"  Tell  me  how  it  was,"  said  she,  presently,  curious  to 
hear  how  he  was  saved  from  the  death  which  must  have 
been  so  near  him,  and  ready,  too,  to  divert  his  mind  from 
poor  Eachel. 

The  story  was  simple  enough.  He  had  been  able  to 
keep  his  little  shallop  afloat  till,  late  at  night,  he  saw 
suddenly  the  huge  hull  "of  a  ship  looming  through  the 
fog,  and  bearing  straight  down  upon  him.  Unable  to 
get  out  of  her  path,  death  seemed  certain.  But  with  a 
seaman's  presence  of  mind  he  saw  his  opportunity  ;  with 
a  seaman's  eye  he  measured  the  distance  for  a  leap  for 
life;  and  as  the  vast  hull  swept  down  upon  his  cockle 
shell  he  jumped  for  her  dolphin-striker,  caught  it,  and 
was  saved.  Twice  he  was  dipped  in  the  ocean  as  the 
ship  pitched  her  bows  under  the  sea-way.  But  at  last 
he  clambered  to  the  bowsprit,  and  in  on  deck,  where  he 
had  hard  work  to  persuade  the  superstitious  French 
crew  not  to  throw  him  overboard,  so  scared  and  amazed 
were  they  at  his  appearance.  The  ship  was  a  French 
Indiaman,  carrying  a  cargo  of  fish  to  Pondicherry.  *  The 


Mehetabel  Rogers 's  Cranberry  Swamp.  195 


captain  set  him  off  upon  a  homeward-bound  American 
ship  in  the  Indian  Ocean.  And  here  he  was,  with  near 
ly  a  twelvemonth  lost  out  of  his  life,  as  he  said. 

"But  you're  saved  to  your  old  mother,"  said  she. 

"And  Eachel  Eogers  is  promised  to  Mulford?"  said 
Captain  Aleck. 

"You  mustn't  think  hard  on  her,  Aleck;  gals  don't 
know  much — and  she  thought  you  was  gone." 

"Was  it  so  long  to  wait?"  he  asked,  conscious  that 
he  would  have  waited  twice  a  twelvemonth  for  her. 

"Mehetabel  was  willin7,  and  Eachel  didn't  know 
which  she  liked  best  of  you  two,  Aleck.  You  always 
went  courtin'  in  couples." 

"  It's  not  too  late  to  go  to  the  Banks  yet,"  he  said,  think 
ing  aloud.  "  I  can  go  down  to  Provincetown  to-morrow, 
and  get  a  pinky  for  myself." 

"  Not  so  soon,  Aleck ;  not  so"  soon,  boy ;  I  want  you 
a  little  while.  I  want  to  look  at  you,  to  see  how  you've 
growed." 

"  Lord  a-massy !  and  so  you've  come  back,  Aleck 
Nickerson ! "  shouted  Aunt  Mehetabel,  coming  into  the 
kitchen ;  "  glad  to  see  ye  alive !  The  cranberries  is  all 
in :  won't  you  come  over  and  look  at  the  swamp  ?  " 

"I'm  goin'  to  Provincetown  to-morrow  to  look  up  a 
vessel  fit  to  go  to  the  Banks,"  said  Captain  Aleck.  "  I 
dare  say  the  cranberries  '11  keep. 

"  But  I  can't ;  I've  got  my  work  to  show  you,  and  the 
swamp  belongs  to  ye  till  you  get  your  money  back, 
Aleck." 


196  Mehetabel  Roger s's  Cranberry  Swamp. 


"  Never  mind,  Aunt  Mehetabel,  I  don't  want  to  build 
my  house  now." 

"  For  why  don't  ye  ?  Don't  look  grouty  the  first  time 
I  see  ye ;  I'll  be  sorry  about  the  money  I  owe  ye." 

Poor  Aleck  was  sadly  badgered  with  these  women. 
He  had  expected  to  come  home  and  find  Miss  Kachel 
receive  him  as  a  lover  lost  and  found ;  he  heard  only 
about  cranberry  swamps.  He  had  never  thought  about 
her  except  as  his  own,  and  yet  he  vexed  himself  with 
the  thought  that  his  own  ill-luck,  and  not  Eachel,  was  in 
fault;  and  that  his  ill-humor  was  neither  manly,  nor 
fair  to  her  who  caused  it,  or  to  his  poor  old  mother,  who 
was  sad  on  his  account  when  she  ought  to  have  been  en 
tirely  happy. 

"  I'll  send  my  old  man  over  for  you  by  and  by,  Aleck," 
said  Aunt  Mehetabel,  feeling — the  crafty  old  woman — 
that  she  was  not  likely  just  yet  to  get  a  good  word  from 
him. 

"  I'm  a  mean  fool  to  be  puttin7  on  a  sour  face,  mother, 
about  this  gal,"  said  Aleck,  looking  up  after  she  was 
gone.  "  It'll  be  all  right  when  I  see  Mulford  once. 
Better  let  me  go  off  to-morrow.  This  '11  all  wear  off 
when  I  get  on  fish  ground  again." 

He  rode  over  to  Provincetown  in  the  stage  next  morn 
ing  ;  found  a  little  pink-sterned  schooner  laid  up,  which 
no  one  had  thought  worthy  of  another  trip  to  the 
Banks ;  hauled  her  up,  cleaned  her  bottom,  painted  it  in 
two  tides,  picked  up  a  crew,  got  his  outfit,  and  in  a  week 
was  on  the  way  to  the  region  of  fogs  and  fish.  Before 
he  sailed  he  visited  the  lights,  and  to  Aunt  Mehetabel's 


Mehetabel  Rogers 's  Cranberry  Swamp.  197 


great  delight  expressed  his  satisfaction  at  the  condition 
of  the  cranberry  patch.  Also  he  met  Miss  Eachel,  who 
held  out  her  hand  to  him,  like  a  girl  who  bears  no 
grudge  against  a  discarded  lover — a  piece  of  generosity 
which  not  many  young  women  are  capable  of. 

"  I'm  goin7  to  look  up  Mulford,  Eachel ;  take  care  of 
yourself  till  I  bring  him  home,"  he  said.  His  heart  was 
light  once  more ;  a  week  of  hard  work,  and  a  foretaste 
of  the  Banks,  had  set  his  thoughts  in  order.  "I  felt 
mean  to  ye  at  first,  Eachel,"  he  said,  as  they  walked  out 
together  toward  the  road ;  "  but  it  warn't  your  fault,  gal. 
And  Mulford's  a  good  fellow  as  ever  lived." 

So  he  sailed  away. 

One  day  his  little  vessel  lay  pitching  like  a  mad  bull, 
in  a  north-easterly  gale,  with  all  her  cable  out  and  a  rag 
of  storm-sail  fluttering  in  the  gale,  while  in  the  high 
stern  sat  Skipper  Aleck,  with  two  or  three  weather-beat 
en  fishermen  in  sou'westers  and  oiled-clothes,  watch 
ing  the  weather.  The  sea  was  too  heavy  to  fish,  and 
the  fog  was  so  thick  that  a  good  lookout  was  neces 
sary. 

"  When  it  broke  away  awhile  ago  I  saw  a  vessel  off 
yonder,  to  windward,"  said  David  Meeker;  "'t  looked 
like  Mulford's  schooner,  too.  Had  jist  sich  a  kink  in  her 
topmast.  But  I  couldn't  see  her  but  for  a  minute ;  may 
be  't  warn't." 

"Anchored?"  asked  the  Skipper. 

"  No ;  onder  way.  Dreffle  work  to  be  onder  way  sich 
weather." 


198  Mehetabel  Roger s>s  Cranberry  Swamp. 


"  Too  thick  to  bang  about  much,"  said  Sylvie  Baker. 
"  I'd  ruther  lay  to  anchor  than  onder  sail." 

"  We'll  have  to  look  out  for  that  fellow,  boys,"  said 
Aleck,  cheerfully.  "  Hope  he'll  not  foul  our  hawse." 

"  Guess  he  stood  across,  on  the  starboard  tack ;  he's 
all  clear  before  this." 

"Whew!  how  it  howls!"  said  Sylvie  Baker,  as  a 
squall  burst  fiercely  over  the  little  vessel,  and  for  a  mo 
ment  bore  her  down,  and  held  her  and  the  sea  almost 
still. 

Just  then  the  fog  bank  lifted  a  little,  and  the  alert 
eyes  of  the  little  group  peered  curiously  around,  as  the 
vessel  rose  on  a  great  sea,  in  search  of  possible  compan 
ions. 

"By  gracious!  how  wild  it  looks  —  hello!  what's 
that?"  shouted  one,  pointing  directly  to  windward, 
where  now  only  a  great  black  mass  of  water  was  to  be 
seen  as  the  schooner  sank  with  a  receding  billow. 
"  That's  a  wreck,  ef  my  old  eyes  is  wuth  any  thin'." 

All  hands  watched  eagerly.  It  was  quite  a  minute 
before  the  vessel  was  thrown  up  on  a  sufficiently  high 
sea  to  enable  them  to  get  a  fair  view.  Then  all  cried, 
with  one  voice,  "  A  wreck !  a  wreck ! " 

"Turn  out  there,  boys!"  cried  Skipper  Aleck  down 
the  companion-hatch;  "  this  fellow  '11  be  down  on  top  of 
us  if  he  don't  mind ! " 

The  sleepers  tumbled  out  of  their  warm  berths,  and 
crawled  into  their  oiled  jackets  and  fish-boots  as  hur 
riedly  as  they  could.  It  was  unwelcome  news  which  the 
Skipper  had  cried  down  the  hatch,  and  some  who  were 


Mehetabel  Roger s^s  Cranberry  Swamp.  199 


dressing  themselves  in  the  cabin  were  pale  at  the 
thought  of  it.  Leave  them  alone,  and  they  were  safe, 
there  in  the  midst  of  the  ocean,  with  a  fierce  north-easter 
blowing  great  guns,  and  the  sea  rolling  mountains  high 
—  safe  as  though  they  had  been  sleeping  with  their 
wives  at  home.  Let  the  wind  howl ;  let  the  sea  bellow, 
and  hiss,  and  tumble  their  little  cockle-shell  about,  as 
though  it  was  bent  now  on  dashing  her  on  the  sand  a 
hundred  fathoms  down  bek>w,  and  again  tossing  her  up 
to  the  pale  full  moon,  of  which  they  got  a  glimpse  over 
head  once  in  a  while.  Their  cable  was  new  and  strong ; 
their  little  sharp-sterned  craft  was  of  a  build  to  outride 
many  a  line-of-battle  ship ;  only  leave  them  alone,  and 
these  accustomed  seamen  ate  their  cold  cut  of  beef  and 
slept  in  their  narrow  berths  as  securely  as  any  Wall- 
Street  banker  in  his  Fifth  Avenue  mansion.  But  once 
slip  the  cable ;  once  derange,  in  the  middle  of  such  a 
gale,  the  conditions  on  which  their  comfort  and  safety 
depended,  and  they  knew  that  they  would  have  such  a 
struggle  with  the  storm  as  not  one  but  dreaded — such  a 
battle  for  life  as  none  of  them  could  be  sure  of  winning 
in. 

The  vessel  which  was  drifting  down  upon  them  was 
about  two  miles  away  when  she  was  first  .seen.  She  was 
dismasted ;  her  mainmast  was  a  mere  stump ;  her  fore 
mast  was  swept  away  flush  with  the  deck.  She  was 
tossed  about  like  a  helpless  chip,  a  bit  of  rag  fluttering 
from  the  stump  of  the  mainmast  barely  sufficing  to  keep 
her  head  to  the  wind.  Captain  Aleck  and  his  crew  watch 
ed  her  with  eager  and  careful  eyes.  It  was  only  at  inter- 


200  Mehetabel  Roger s*s  Cranberry  Swamp. 


vals  they  got  a  momentary  glimpse  of  her.  The  sea 
ran  so  high  that  it  was  only  when  both  vessels  happened 
to  be  at  the  same  time  tossed  upward,  and  when  no  in 
termediate  mountain  roller  obstructed  the  sight,  that  they 
could  see  the  helpless,  dismasted  craft. 

"  She's  not  anchored,  Skipper,"  shouted  David  Meek 
er  into  Aleck's  ear. 

"  No,  she's  drifting  down  on  us,"  replied  Aleck,  look 
ing  nervously  forward,  where  a  few  flakes  of  his  stout 
hempen  cable  still  lay  faked  neatly  on  the  deck — too  few 
to  be  of  use  in  getting  out  of  the  way  of  the  approach 
ing  vessel. 

"  We  can't  stick  out  any  more ;  there  ain't  enough," 
shouted  David,  in  answer  to  his  Captain's  glance. 

"  She's  going  to  leeward  like  mad  ;  looks  's  though 
she'd  fetch  agin  us,  sure." 

The  discipline  of  a  fishing  vessel  is  not  very  strict. 
The  men  obey  the  captain,  but  they  know  as  much  as 
he  does,  and  they  do  not  always  wait  for  orders.  Every 
man  aboard  understood  the  necessities  of  the  case  per 
fectly,  and  it  did  not  need  Skipper  Aleck's  orders  to  set 
them  to  reefing  the  mainsail  and  foresail. 

" Balance  reef's  the  best,  Skipper?"  roared  some  one, 
making  himself  understood  as  well  by  signs. 

Aleck  nodded ;  and  the  sails  were  so  reefed  that  only 
a  small  triangular  piece  of  each  would  be  exposed  if  it 
became  necessary  to  raise  them. 

"  Lash  down  the  throat  solid,"  shouted  the  Skipper. 
"  Don't  let  any  thing  get  adrift — look  out ! "  as  a  great 
sea  swept  under  the  schooner,  and  flung  her  for  a  mo- 


Mehetabel  Rogers' s  Cranberry  Swamp.  201 


ment  nearly  straight  on  end.  The  cook's  tin  pans  rattled 
drearily  in  the  galley — a  sound  which  those  who  have 
heard  it  in  a  great  storm  at  sea  never  forget.  It  strikes 
the  ears  of  seamen  as  a  sign  of  the  utmost  violence  of  a 
gale. 

The  men  at  the  sails  were  swung  off  their  feet,  and 
clung  to  the  rigging  with  their  hands  till  she  settled 
down  again.  Those  in  the  high  stern  used  the  moment 
when  they  were  tossed  up  to  watch  the  fast-approach 
ing  wreck. 

"  She  comes  down  on  us  awful  fast,"  said  Uncle  David. 

She  was  not  more  than  half  a  mile  away  now.  She 
"had  drifted  a  full  mile  in  seven  or  eight  minutes ;  the 
sea  and  wind  were  sweeping  her  along  at  the  rate  of  not 
less  than  eight  knots  an  hour.  In  less  than  five  minutes 
more  it  would  be  decided  whether  Captain  Aleck's  little 
Swallow  was  safe  or  no. 

"  Go  forward  now  with  your  axe,  Uncle  David ;  don't 
cut  till  I  tell  ye,  old  man ;  and  stand  clear  when  ye  cut 
Sylvie  Baker,  stand  by  the  foresail  and  keep  yer  eye  on 
me.  Tell  the  boys  to  lash  themselves  fast.  Drive  half 
a  dozen  nails  into  this  companion  slide  here ;  if  we  ship 
a  sea  it  may  wash  it  off  else,  and  fill  the  cabin." 

"  She  not  a  dozen  ship's  lengths  off  now,  Skipper," 
said  Job  Scudder,  pointing  with  his  finger  at  the  schoon 
er,  on  whose  deck  a  few  helpless  mites  could  by  this  time 
be  seen  clinging  to  the  bulwarks  and  motioning,  as 
though  dumbly  entreating  them  for  help.  There  was 
no  longer  any  fog  to  obscure  the  vision.  The  blinding 
spoon-drift  swept  constantly  across,  impelled  with  such 

12 


2O2  Mehetabel  Rogers V  Cranberry  Swamp. 


violence  by  the  fury  of  the  gale  that  it  struck  the  face 
like  needle-points  or  like  sharp  hail.  The  sea  was  white 
with  foam,  and  the  tops  of  the  huge  black  mountain  bil 
lows  curled  over  in  foam  rifts,  which  broke  with  a  hoarse, 
sullen  roar,  and  were  swept  by  or  under  the  Swallow 
with  a  dull  hiss,  as  of  ten  thousand  venomous  serpents 
eager  for  the  lives  of  the  crew.  At  such  times  the 
waves  no  longer  appear  sea-green;  their  vast  masses, 
rolled  up  by  the  steady  fury  of  the  wind,  are  dark  and 
gloomy,  as  though  laden  with  a  thousand  deaths ;  they 
have  a  resistless  weight  and  momentum;  they  move 
with  the  same  majestic  grandeur  which  distinguishes  and 
makes  awful  the  great  tide  which  rolls  over  the  Canadian 
fall  at  Niagara.  They  break  slowly,  and  the  curling  top 
of  such  a  wave  is  instantly  seized  by  the  wind  and  dash 
ed,  in  sheets  of  fiercely-driven  drops,  along  the  surface : 
this  is  called  "  spoon-drift." 

As  the  dismasted  hull  swept  down  toward  them,  the 
crew  of  the  little  Swallow  forgot  for  a  moment  their  own 
peril,  in  watching  eagerly  the  helpless  creatures  who 
were  now  so  near  that  their  faces  could  be  seen.  The 
wreck  was  almost  directly  ahead.  "  She'll  drift  athwart 
our  cable,  sure,  and  then  we're  gone,"  old  David  was  say 
ing  to  himself,  while  all  held  their  breath  in  dread  sus 
pense.  Just  then,  when  their  own  fate  seemed  already 
sealed,  a  huge  wave  seized  the  hulk  and  carried  her  in 
one  great  bold  sweep  down  past  the  Swallow's  bow.  As 
both  vessels  rose  on  the  high  crest  of  a  sea  they  lay  for 
a  moment  abreast,  and  not  twenty  yards  apart,  and  the 
two  crews  scanned  eagerly  each  other's  faces. 


Mehetabel  Roger s^s  Cranberry  Swamp.  203 


"Good  God!  it's  your  brother  Mulford,  Skipper!" 
roared  the  cook,  who  stood  at  Captain  Aleck's  side,  cling 
ing  to  the  same  shroud,  and  pointing  to  a  figure,  with 
flying  hair  and  sea-washed  clothes,  which  was  lashed  to 
the  quarter  of  the  wreck. 

Captain  Aleck  had  seen  him  already ;  he  stood,  pale 
and  silent,  looking  with  scared  eyes  at  the  vision,  which 
lasted  but  a  moment.  In  the  next  the  vessel  was  hidden 
by  an  intervening  wave ;  but  as  she  disappeared  a  cry 
of  mortal  terror  came  from  her  crew — a  cry  so  sharp,  so 
full  of  horror  that  it  pierced  through  the  roaring  gale, 
and  reached  even  to  the  ears  .of  the  Swallow's  men. 
Well  might  they  cry  out,  the  hapless  crew ;  for,  with 
death  clutching  at  them  in  every  wave,  they  saw  sudden 
ly  before  their  eyes  the  apparition  of  one  whom  the  seas 
had  swallowed  up  a  year  ago,  as  they  believed — they 
saw  Captain  Aleck  Nickerson  standing  there,  one  risen 
from  the  dead,  to  call  them  to  a  fate  like  his  own. 

"  They've  gone  down ! "  screamed  David,  who  had 
worked  his  way  aft  again ;  he  understood  the  cry  they 
had  heard  as  the  last  utterance  of  the  drowning  wretches. 

"  Not  yet— there  they  drift,"  shouted  Aleck,  who  had 
leaped  up  on  the  top  of  the  main  gaff,  and  held  him 
self  there  by  the  throat  halyards.  "  There  they  drift, 
poor  fellows !  We  can't  help  them  now ;  they're  too  far 
off." 

He  comprehended  well  enough  the  meaning  of  the  cry 
which  had  come  from  Mulford  and  his  crew ;  he  waved 
wildly  with  his  arms  toward  the  fast-disappearing  hulk, 
eager  to  assure  the  poor  fellows  that  he  was  no  spirit 


2O4  Mehetabel  Rogers^  Cranberry  Swamp. 


summoning  them  to  death ;    but  his  motions,  if  they 
saw  them,  were  not  calculated  to  re-assure. 


The  gale  blew  itself  out  that  night ;  and  a  sharp  rain, 
which  set  in  for  some  hours  toward  morning,  cut  down 
the  sea  so  much  that  when  the  sun  rose,  bright  and 
cheery,  and  the  blue  sky  was  once  more  seen,  all  hands 
were  quickly  called  to  weigh  anchor  and  set  sail  in  search 
of  the  wreck.  Aleck  buckled  on  his  spy-glass  and 
mounted  to  the  main  cross-trees,  to  look  out.  The  wind 
blew  lightly  from  the  southward,  and  as  they  ssv&gi,, 
slowly  along  half  the  crew  gathered  in  the  cross-trees 
and  rigging,  every  eye  scanning  the  horizon  for  some 
sign  of  the  wreck.  For  many  hours  they  saw  nothing  ; 
but  about  two  o'clock  in  the  afternoon  Captain  Aleck, 
who  had  tasted  no  food  yet  that  day,  nor  felt  the  need  of 
any,  in  his  anxiety  for  his  brother,  sung  out  sharply, 
"  Look  out  on  the  starboard  bow  there ;  I  think  I  see  a 
spar  or  something  floating." 

"  Keep  her  away  a  point,"  he  ordered  the  helmsman 
presently,  when  he  had  viewed  the  object  through  his 
glass. 

As  they  bore  down  upon  it  it  proved  to  be  a  mast,  but 
no  live  thing  was  attached  to  it. 

"That  belongs  to  some  one  else  than  Mulford.  It 
warn't  lost  in  this  gale ;  see  the  barnacles  on  it,"  said  one 
of  the  men  before  they  came  up  to  it. 

"  Haul  her  up  again ! "  ordered  Captain  Aleck. 


Mehetabel  Rogers^  Cranberry  Swamp.  205 


But  presently  they  came  to  other  signs  of  shipwreck — 
floating  barrels,  a  bucket,  part  of  a  stove  boat ;  and  at 
last,  in  the  far  distance,  sharp-eyed  David  declared  he 
saw  a  spar,  with  something  like  a  flag  waving. 

"It's  only  the  sea  breaking  over  it,"  said  the  Skipper, 
nervously,  not  daring  to  give  his  hopes  an  airing  in 
words ;  yet  he  watched  intently  the  piece  of  wreck  to 
ward  which  the  Swallow  was  now  sailing.  Certainly 
there  was  something  like  a  fluttering  rag  visible  on  it  as 
it  was  lifted  by  the  swell ;  and  what  was  that  black  thing 
which  clung  to  the  spar?  "I  do  believe  there's  a  man 
on  that  wreck ! "  shouted  Captain  Aleck,  suddenly,  in 
some  excitement.  "Here,  David,  take  a  careful  look 
with  the  glass." 

"He's  waving  to  us,"  said  David,  after  some  minutes. 
"  It's  a  man.  I  see  his  arms  wavin'.  Now  I  see  him  try- 
in'  to  stand  up.  He  sees  us  plainly.  He  is  on  three 
spars  lashed  together.  He  keeps  wavin',  poor  creetur ! " 
This  much  David  reported  in  a  monotonous  voice,  with 
out  removing  his  eye  from  the  glass. 

"  Bring  up  the  colors,  some  of  you,"  ordered  Aleck ; 
"  we'll  let  him  know  we  see  him,  anyhow.  Look  sharp, 
there!  It's  not  comfortable  waitin'  on  that  spar  for  a 
sign  from  us.  Get  the  boat  ready,  down  there !  " 

"  Boat's  all  ready,  Sir,"  was  the  reply. 

•"  0  dear,  how  slow  we  do  go  ahead ! "  fidgeted  the 
Captain  at  the  mast-head.  "  Seems  to  me  we  don't  get 
any  nearer  at  all.  There,  thank  God !  he  sees  the  colors. 
Look,  David,  he's  sot  down.  Thank  the  Lord!  he's 
comfortable  now,  poor  fellow ! " 


206  Mehetabel  Rogers' s  Cranberry  Swamp. 


"  There's  more  wreck  on  the  lee  bow,  Skipper ! "  sung 
out  a  man  who  was  perched  on  the  foremast-head.  "  By 
Godfrey,  there's  two  men  on  that  piece  !  I  see  'em  both. 
Seems  to  me  one's  dead  ;  he  don't  move." 

"  Take  hold  there  and  launch  that  boat ;  I  can't  wait 
any  longer,"  cried  Aleck,  swinging  himself  from  the 
cross-trees,  and  sliding  rapidly  down  on  deck.  "  Get  in 
here  with  me,  Tom;  it's  only  a  quarter  of  a  mile,  and 
we  can  pull  it  easily." 

"  Keep  an  eye  on  the  others,  aloft  there,"  he  ordered, 
as  they  struck  out  from  the  Swallow.  "  First  come  first 
served  :  they  '11  have  to  wait." 

The  two  oarsmen  had  no  easy  task  before  them.  The 
sea  was  still  high.  The  rain  of  last  night  had  smoothed 
the  tops  of  the  billows ;  the  waves  no  longer  broke  angrily, 
but  there  remained  the  long  ground-swell,  which  takes 
always  some  days  to  subside.  The  little  shell  of  a  boat 
was  not  a  very  safe  conveyance  ;  but  Skipper  Aleck  did 
not  think  of  safety  for  himself.  He  and  his  companion 
tugged  at  their  oars,  now  forcing  the  boat  up  the  great 
mountain-side  of  a  long  wave,  and  presently  propelled 
with  a  fearful  rush  into  a  deep  pit  of  waters.  The  wind 
had  nearly  died  out,  and,  slowly  as  they  made  headway, 
they  progressed  more  rapidly  than  the  Swallow,  whose 
sails  were  half  the  time  becalmed  under  the  lee  of  the 
great  seas. 

"  I'd  give  all  I'll  ever  be  worth  ef  that  was  Mulford 
Nickerson,"  said  Captain  Aleck,  half  to  himself.  "  Pull, 
Tom  Connor;  do  your  best;  I  want  to  see  the  man's 
face." 


Mehetabel  Roger s^s  Cranberry  Swamp.  207 


It  was  a  long  pull ;  but  at  last  they  heard  a  faint  shout, 
and,  turning  their  heads  the  next  time  the  boat  rose  on 
a  swell,  they  saw  the  poor  fellow  whom,  they  came  to 
save. 

"  All  right,  my  man !  "  shouted  Aleck,  in  reply. 
"Look  at  his  face,  Tom  Connor,  and  see  ef  you  know 
him.  I  can't  bear  to  look." 

"  It's  not  your  brother,  Skipper,"  reported  Tom,  in  a 
few  minutes.  "  It's  Dan'el  Twyer,  of  Barnstable." 

The  poor  Skipper  gave  a  groan,  but  pulled  ahead. 
"  We'll  make  his  wife  glad,  anyhow,  please  God,"  said 
he.  "Hold  fast,  Uncle  Dan'el!"  he  shouted;  "we'll 
get  you  safe  aboard  directly ! " 

With  skillful  management  they  got  the  boat  alongside 
the  floating  spar  for  a  moment,  without  knocking  a  hole 
in  her  bottom ;  and  in  that  moment  Daniel  Twyer,  sum 
moning  for  the  effort  all  the  little  strength  he  had  left, 
leaped  into  the  stern  sheets,  and  sank  down  in  a  heap, 
with  dazed  eyes  and  a  frightened  look,  asking,  "  Be  you 
alive,  Aleck  Nickerson,  or  be  you  a  sperrit  ?  " 

"  HeTs  more  alive  than  you,  you  old  fool !  "  answered 
Tom  Connor,  gruffly,  ready  to  quarrel  with  the  poor  fel 
low,  now  that  he  had  saved  his  life ;  "  where's  your 
Skipper?" 

But  Daniel  Twyer  was  too  weak  to  reply ;  the  feeling 
that  he  was  safe,  that  presently  he  would  be  on  a  ship's 
deck,  overcame  him,  and  he  dropped  insensible  in  the 
stern  sheets,  and  was  not  aroused  till  Connor  had  put 
a  bow-line  under  his  arms,  and  he  felt  himself  swung 
on  board,  and  lying  upon  the  deck  of  the  Swallow. 


208  Mehetabel  Roger s^s  Cranberry  Swamp. 


"  Keep  her  away  for  tlie  other  men !  "  shouted  the  Cap 
tain,  as  he  leaped  on  board,  and  the  boat  was  hauled  in 
over  the  low  rail  of  the  schooner.  "  Now  then,  Dan'el 
Twyer,  where's  your  Skipper  ? ?T  he  demanded. 

"  Mulford  Nickerson  and  Zebah  Snow  was  lashed  to 
the  main-hatchway  when  I  saw  'em  last." 

The  wind  had  freshened,  and  the  Swallow  was  running 
down  toward  the  two  men  rapidly.  David  Meeker  sat 
in  the  cross-trees,  with  the  glass,  watching  them,  and  wav 
ing  his  hat  every  few  minutes,  to  re-assure  their  hopes. 

Presently  he  sung  out,  "Tears  to  me  one  on  'em's 
Zebah  Snow—" 

"  Hurrah,  boys !  "  shouted  Aleck,  his  anxious  face  at 
last  lighted  up  with  joy. 

"  T'other  one's  dead,"  added  David. 

"  'Tain't  so ! "  instantly  shouted  the  Skipper  in  return. 
"  'Tain't  so ;  ef  he  was  dead  his  weight  wouldn't  cumber 
the  raft."  And  in  a  moment  he  had  "  shinned  "  to  the 
cross-trees  and  held  the  glass  to  his  own  eye. 

"'Tain't  so,  Uncle  David,"  he  repeated;  "you  don't 
know  nothin'  'bout  it,  old  man.  T'other  one's  Mulford 
Nickerson,  and  he  ain't  dead,  by  Godfrey,  for — there !  I 
saw  him  move ! "  he  shouted,  at  the  top  of  his  voice. 
"  Get  that  boat  ready  to  launch,  down  there  on  deck !  " 

Down  he  slid,  and  in  a  minute  was  once  more  afloat  in 
the  boat,  pulling  with  eager  strokes  for  the  raft,  which 
the  Swallow  dared  not  approach  too  nearly  for  fear  of 
being  flung  on  top  of  it  by  the  sea. 

"  Who's  that  on  the  hatch  with  you,  Snow  ?  "  he  call 
ed  out,  as  the  boat  neared  the  raft. 


Mehetabel  Rogers' s  Cranberry  Swamp.  209 


The  man  who  had  been  declared  dead  tottered  half  to 
his  feet,  but  fell  again,  crying  out,  "Is  it  you,  Aleck 
Nickerson  ?  "  It  was  all  he  could  say.  The  next  min 
ute  Zebali  Snow  was  jerked  off  the  raft,  and  flung  into 
the  boat,  and  Captain  Aleck  stood  in  his  place. 

"  Thank  God,  it's  you,  sure,"  said  he,  grasping  Mul- 
ford's  hands  in  both  his ;  "  but  what's  the  matter  ?  " 

"My  leg's  broke  in  two  places.  And  you're  alive, 
dear  old  fellow  !  Thank  God  for  that,  anyhow.  I  don't 
care  now.  We  thought  it  was  your  ghost  when  we  drift 
ed  past  you  in  the  gale.'r 

They  got  him  on  to  the  boat  and  into  the  /Swallow1  s 
cabin  as  carefully  as  they  could ;  and  here  his  leg  was 
dressed,  and  he  was  cared  for  as  tenderly  as  rough  but 
kind-hearted  seamen  knew  how.  They  are  a  rude  set, 
no  doubt,  the  men  of  the  sea,  and  have  but  little  pity  for 
the  minor  ails.  They  are  merciless  toward  men  with 
headaches,  or  nerves,  or  dyspepsia ;  they  can  not  believe 
a  man  sick  if  he  can  walk  or  eat ;  but  there  is  no  tender 
er  nurse,  no  more  thoughtful,  skillful,  long-suffering,  self- 
denying  attendant  on  a  real  and  serious  sick-bed  than 
the  roughest  old  tar  in  the  forecastle. 

When  Skipper  Aleck  had  seen  Mulford  comfortably 
tucked  away  in  his  own  berth,  and  had  administered  a 
cup  of  tea  and  such  other  nourishment  to  him  as  was  fit 
and  at  hand,  he  went  on  deck  and  called  his  crew  around 
him.  Codfishermen  are  not  paid  wages;  each  man 
keeps  account  of  his  own  fish,  and  receives  their  value 
when  they  are  sold,  less  a  certain  share  reserved  for  the 


210  Mchetabel  Rogers' s  Cranberry  Swamp. 


owners  of  the  vessel,  and  another  smaller  share  which 
the  Captain  has  for  his  conduct  of  the  voyage.  Aleck 
was  determined  to  steer  at  once  for  home ;  but  the  Swal 
low  was  not  more  than  half  full  of  fish,  and  to  make 
what  is  called  a  broken  voyage  would  be  a  serious  loss 
to  men  who  had  families  to  feed  and  clothe. 

The  seniors  of  the  crew  had  already  agreed  upon  their 
course,  however;  and  when  their  Captain  said,  "Men,  I 
want  to  take  the  Swallow  home  as  fast  as  she  can  sail," 
David  Meeker  put  the  helm  up,  Tom  Connor  bent  on  the 
stay-sail,  and  with  a  ready,  "  All  right,  Skipper ! "  the 
little  craft  was  put  upon  her  proper  course  with  all  sail 
set. 

On  the  tenth  day  they  ran  into  Provincetown.  It 
was  a  bright  June  day,  and  Mulford,  who  had  been  grad 
ually  sinking,  lay  upon  the  deck  with  his  brother  by 
him. 

"  Don't  think  hardly  of  poor  Eachel,"  he  said,  for  the 
hundredth  time.  "It  was  I  that  persuaded  her;  and 
(rod  knows  I  was  sorry  for  you,  brother;  but  we  all 
thought  you  dead." 

"  I'll  dance  at  your  wedding,  dear  old  fellow,  this  win 
ter,"  said  Aleck. 

"You'll  bury  me  in  the  old  grave-yard  next  to  fa 
ther,"  replied  Mulford,  solemnly ;  "and,  Aleck,  promise 
me  that  you'll  take  Eachel.  She  loves  you  now ;  she's 
a  good  gal;  don't  let  me  go,  feelin'  that  I  parted  ^iou 
two." 

Aleck  held  the  poor  fellow's  hot  hands  in  his  own. 
He  did  not  suspect  how  near  his  brother  was  to  death. 


Mehetabcl  Rogers' s  Cranberry  Swamp.  211 


There  was  not  much  pain  in  the  broken  leg  now ;  but 
that  was  because  mortification  had  set  in.  The  fractured 
limb  had  been  too  badly  wounded  when  it  was  jammed 
between  two  heavy  floating  spars,  to  afford  hopes  of  re 
covery,  even  had  Mulford  had  more  skillful  treatment 
than  the  poor  fishermen  could  give  him.  He  died  short 
ly  after  they  had  cast  anchor ;  and  poor  Aleck,  broken 
with  grief,  set  out  for  home  to  carry  the  sad  tidings  to 
his  mother. 

It  is  a  true  story  which  I  have  told  you ;  and  the  poor 
mother  who  sorrowed  for  two  sons  lost  at  sea,  and  yet 
thanked  God  for  one  of  them  saved,  still  lives  with  that 
one  who  now  brought  home  his  dead  brother.  The 
women  of  the  Cape  have  need  of  stout  hearts,  for  they 
do  not  know  what  moment  their  dearest  are  suffering  the 
agony  of  death;  they  can  not  tell  what  minute  shall 
make  any  one  of  them  a  widow  or  childless.  I  could 
show  you  a  row  of  white  houses  in  a  little  Cape  village, 
in  seven  of  which  live  the  widows  made  by  one  great 
gale.  It  is  not  often  the  greedy  sea  gives  up  its  dead ; 
it  is  not  always,  alas !  that  of  two  sons  one  is  saved  ;  and 
when  the  Widow  Nickerson  had  heard  all  this  sad  tale 
it  was  not  without  proper  cause  she  said,  through  her 
tears,  "I've  saved  one,  anyhow.  Thank  God,  who  took 
away,  but  who  also  gave  me  back  you,  my  boy ! " 

She  lives  yet,  this  old  woman,  and  is  happy  too ;  for 
is  she  not  spoiling  a  white-haired  grandson,  who,  at  three 
years  old,  is  impatient  to  be  six,  that  he  may  be  cook  of 
his  father's  schooner  ? 


212  Mehetabel  Rogers V  Cranberry  Swamp. 


Eachel  and  Aleck  sorrowed  together  over  Mulford's 
death.  They  are  now  man  and  wife.  Captain  Aleck 
had  to  "go  away  South "  for  a  couple  of  winters  to  re 
store  his  broken  fortunes ;  but  with  this  and  two  good 
fish  years  he  gained  back  more  than  he  had  lost  And 
one  Thanksgiving  afternoon  he  went  over  and  asked 
Rachel  if  she  would  marry  him. 

The  cranberry  patch  in  these  years  had  borne  so 
abundantly  that  Aunt  Mehetabel  was  regarded  in  her 
neighborhood  as  a  woman  of  great  capacity  and  good 
luck ;  and  when  Captain  Aleck  came  to  ask  her  and  the 
old  light-house  keeper  for  their  daughter,  she  said,  "Ra 
chel's  been  waitin'  for  ye,  Aleck ;  she  wouldn't  hev  none 
else  but  you — and  this  year's  crop  of  berries  '11  build 
you  yer  house." 

"The  worms  '11  eat  7em  before  you  pick  'em,"  said 
Aleck,  remembering  the  old  bout  in  the  Lacy  Ann's 
cabin. 

"  They'm  all  picked,  and  not  a  worm  amongst  'em," 
she  replied.  "And  ef  it.warn't  for  them  cranberries 
you'd  hev  to  go  away  this  winter,  little  as  you  thought 
it,  instead  of  sittin'  comfortable  in  your  own  house.  Tell 
ye  what,  boy,  cranberry  swamp's  better  'n  goin'  to  the 
Banks." 

If  the  respectable  reader  will  accept  that  last  sentence 
as  a  moral  to  this  true  tale  he  is  welcome  to  it. 


MAUD  ELBERT'S  LOVE  MATCH. 


MAUD  ELBERTS  LOVE  MATCH. 


JAMES  GRANT  landed  in  New  York,  in  the  summer 
of  1793,  with  two  suits  of  clothes,  a  chest  of  carpen 
ter's  tools,  a  pair  of  strong  arms,  and  a  stout  heart.  He 
left  Aberdeen  because  he  thought  to  better  his  condition 
in  America;  and  being  a  shrewd,  common  -  sensible 
Scotchman,  he  found  no  difficulty  in  doing  so.  Discov 
ering  himself  able  to  earn  bread  and  butter  for  two,  he 
presently  sent  out  for  the  girl  he'd  left  behind  him,  and 
when  she  arrived,  duly  married  her,  and  installed  her 
mistress  of  a  little  house  he  had  meantime  built.  As 
years  passed  along  quietly,  James  Grant  invested  the 
good  woman's  savings  and  his  own  in  a  quantity  of  fa 
vorably-situated  country  lots,  which  are  now  rather  be 
low  the  business  centre  of  the  big  city  which  New 
Yorkers  call  the  metropolis.  In  their  little  house,  next 
to  the  carpenter's  shop,  the  old  folk  lived  and  died,  to 
the  great  disgust  of  the  present  head  of  the  family,  then 
a  rising  young  merchant,  who  got  out  of  it  long  ago,  and 
into  a  Fifth  Avenue  palace  nineteen  and  three-quarters' 
feet  wide,  and  very  high  stooped. 


2i6  Maud  Elbcrfs  Love  Match. 


This  is  quite  enough  of  James  Grant,  whose  life,  being 
only  a  poor  devil  of  a  ship-carpenter's,  I  do  not  propose 
to  take.  He  was  too  unremarkable  a  man  for  me  to 
trouble  myself  or  the  reader  with ;  I  don't  believe  the 
poor  fellow  ever  had  even  a  political  aspiration  in  his 
life,  which,  however,  when  you  properly  consider  it,  is 
so  strange  a  fact  in  the  history  of  an  adopted  Amer 
ican  that  it  almost  entitles  him  to  a  critical  biography, 
in  the  popular  style  of  the  Honorable  and  Eeverend 
O.  Phydl,  D.D. 

J.  Augustus  Grant  is  the  grandson  of  old  James 
Grant.  I  have  been  told,  by  one  of  those  disagreeable 
persons  who  "recollect"  every  thing,  that  in  his  youth, 
some  three-and-twenty  years  ago,  when  the  Fifth  Av 
enue  palace  was  yet  safely  hidden  in  the  brain  of  the 
architect,,  and  three  generations  of  Grants  hived  together 
in  the  little  house,  J.  Augustus  was  popularly  known 
on  the  street  as  "  Little  Jimmy  Grant,"  as  mischievous 
an  urchin  as  ever  knuckled  down  to  taw.  I  admire 
the  taste  which  dictated  the  addition  and  proper  prom 
inence  of  "  Augustus."  Had  he  remained  only  plain 
Jimmy  Grant,  I  should  perhaps  never  have  told  this  lit 
tle  story  of  him. 

Before  James  Augustus  got  fairly  into  trowsers  and 
boots  a  great  change  was  made  in  his  life.  The  country 
lots  having  got  sufficiently  down  town  to  become  very 
valuable,  Peter  Grant,  son  of  James  and  father  of  J.  A., 
induced  the  old  carpenter  to  sell  out,  and  with  the  pro 
ceeds  establish  him  in  business.  Peter  was  a  good  busi 
ness  man,  and  before  very  long  time  the  Fifth  Avenue 


Maud  Elberfs  Love  Match.  217 


palace  was  built,  and  J.  Augustus  became  at  once  a  re 
spectable  juvenile,  with  an  aristocratic  weakness  for  trot 
ters — not  sheeps'  trotters,  but  livery -stable  trotters. 

Young  America  has  a  very  surprising  knack  at  suiting 
itself  to  its  place  in  the  world.  There  is  scarce  a  tallow- 
chandler's  son  in  all  Fifth  Avenue  but  bears  himself  as 
though  his  ancestors  had  lived  in  palaces  since  before 
the  flood;  and  I  am  sure  no  one  who  has  seen  these 
"young  scions  of  our  aristocracy,"  as  the  Jeames  of 
the  Home  Journal  prettily  calls  them,  but  will  perceive 
at  once  the  justice  and  sagacity  of  Mr.  Buchanan's  re 
mark  to  the  Queen,  that  the  Americans  are  a  nation  of 
sovereigns.  J.  Augustus,  who  no  sooner  got  into  his 
papa's  palace  than  he  seemed  to  every  one  to  have  been 
born  there,  was  of  course  in  due  time  sent  to  college ; 
where  he  acquired  the  proper  proficiency  in  Greek,  Latin, 
and  Mathematics,  slang,  billiards,  an,d  brandy  smashes. 
He  astonished  his  "governor"  with  regularly  recurring 
bills  for  horse-hire,  which  persuaded  that  speculative  old 
gentleman  that  the  keeping  of  livery  stables  must  be  the 
most  lucrative  business  in  the  world;  and  mystified  his 
mother,  on  his  vacation  visits  home,  by  insisting  on  a 
night-key,  and  requesting  to  have  his  breakfast  in  bed. 
She  thought  at  first  that  Gussy  was  in  feeble  health, 
good  soul !  and  proposed  to  send  up  also  the  family  phy 
sician.  It  should  be  said  that  the  young  man  graduated 
with  credit  to  himself.  At  a  subsequent  supper  he  de 
veloped  political  aspirations,  and  made  an  astonishing 
speech  on  manifest  destiny  ;  in  which  he  abused  the  old 
fogies,  threatened  the  British  Lion,  and  declared  his  con- 

K 


2i8  Maud  Elberfs  Love  Match. 


viction  that  the  first  duty  of  every  true-born  American 
is  to  feather  the  nest  of  our  national  bird.  His  father 
told  hirft  next  day  that  he  had  made  an  ass  of  himself, 
which  made  J.  A.  laugh.  The  old  folks  don't  under 
stand  these  things,  you  see. 

To  a  wealthy  American  there  seem  but  two  paths 
open ;  business  and — nothing.  Of  the  two,  in  the  pres 
ent  wholesome  state  of  our  civilization,  the  former  seems 
preferable,  as  being  least  unendurable.  J.  Augustus,  of 
course,  was  not  going  to  waste  his  life  in  a  profession. 
Peter  was  a  first-class  business  man,  a  China  merchant, 
Grant  &  Elbert,  you  might  have  seen  their  sign,  ay, 
and  their  fine,  stanch  old  tea-ships  too,  any  day  you 
chose  to  stroll  down  along  South  Street.  So  there  was 
an  opening  made  for  young  Grant,  pending  which  open 
ing  he  proposed  to  spend  a  couple  of  years  in  Europe, 
which  to  young  men  of  J.  A.'s  kidney  seems  to  signify 
chiefly,  Paris.  I  wonder  if  Abraham's  young  men  made 
Gomorrah  their  head-quarters  when  they  went  abroad  ? 

On  J.  A.'s  return,  which  was  brought  about  by  his  fa 
ther's  refusal  to  honor  his  drafts  after  a  certain  date,  he 
found  the  opening  ready  for  him.  That  it  did  not  ex 
actly  suit  him  was  evinced  by  the  fact  that  he  filled  it 
only  about  once  a  week,  when  he  drew  his  pay ;  spend 
ing  the  remainder  of  his  valuable  time*  on  the  road,  and 
at  his  club — the  last  a  delightful  place,  where,  I  am  told, 
young  men  eat,  drink,  and  talk  intelligently  about  horses 
and  "  giurls." 

Why  should  he  do  differently  ?     Did  not  all  the  young 

*  "Time  is  money." — POOR  RICHARD. 


Maud  Elberfs  Love  Match.  219 


men,  his  social  peers,  do  the  same?  Why  should  he 
make  a  guy  of  himself  down  in  South  Street,  while  there 
was  still  a  bit  of  life  not  worn  threadbare  for  him? 
Was  he  not  his  father's  sole  heir?  Was  not  the  gov 
ernor  wortk  a  cool  three  hundred  thousand  ?  And  was 
not  this  promising  youth  by  and  by  to  marry  pretty 
Maud  Elbert  with  $100,000  more  ? 

Which  puts  me  in  mind  that  I  have  as  yet  said  noth 
ing  about  Miss  Maud,  whOj  as  a  young  person  worth  the 
snug  sum  aforementioned,  and  intended  by  kind  Fate  to 
be  the  heroine  of  this  story,  should  have  been  treated 
with  more  courtesy.  Maud  Elbert,  may  it  please  you, 
then,  is  my  heroine,  a  tall,  straight,  brown-haired  girl, 
whose  acquaintance  would  tell  you  she  was  proud ; 
whose  friends  thought  her  only  reserved ;  whose  few  in 
timates  loved  her  as  the  humblest,  the  cheeriest,  the  kind-  m 
est ;  a  girl  with  a  smile  like  a  June  morning,  but  with  a 
power  of  cool  stare  in  her  clear  blue  eyes,  equal,  so  I 
have  heard  J.  A.  say,  to  forty  brown-stone  fronts,  a 
Fifth  Avenue  figure  of  speech  which  I  commend  to  the 
young  gentlemen  of  the  clubs. 

I  think  there  are  people  who  somehow  feel  it  a  mis 
fortune  to  be  "  cradled  in  the  lap  of  luxury,"  as  the  lady 
novelists  nicely  style  it.  There  is  a  kind  of  mind  which 
wilts  in  the  fierce  glare  of  too  great  prosperity,  and  blos 
soms  brightest  and  fullest  in  cloudy  weather  or  in  shady 
nooks.  I  don't  say  this  of  myself,  or  of  you,  reader,  or 
of  J.  A.  Augustus  was  little  troubled  with  this  weari 
ness  of  being  served,  of  being  "  done  for "  instead  of 


220  Maud  Elberfs  Love  Match. 


doing,  which  often  brought  into  Maud's  blue  eyes  that 
far -gazing,  nothing -distinguishing  look,  that  deepest, 
quietest  trouble  in  an  honest  eye,  which,  to  the  observ 
ing,  portends  a  soul  rusting  in  fetters.  This  was  what 
you  might  see  in  Maud.  Not  unhappiness :  why  should 
she  be  unhappy  whose  every  possible  want  was  minis 
tered  to  almost  before  it  was  felt  ?  But  to  a.  true  soul 
thus  circumstanced,  and  especially  to  a  true  woman's 
soul,  there  are  bright  possibilities  each  day  perishing  in 
the  dim  budding,  which  cast  about  her  whole  life  this 
soft  tinge  of  unavailing  sorrow.  To  such 

"  Chambers  of  the  great  are  jails, 
And  head- winds  right  for  royal  sails." 

How  far  what  a  woman  does  often  falls  short  of  what  she 
is !  And  then  steps  in  some  stupid  satirist,  and,  apply 
ing  to  her  life  the  remorseless  logic  of  achievement,  cries, 
"Lo!  here  is  one  found  wanting!"  Is  there  any  sight 
more  sadly  touching  than  this  of  a  fair  young  girl's  soul, 
gold-fettered  and  condemned  by  unpropitious  Fate  to  be 
mastered  by  servants,  by  society,  by  finery,  by  any  and 
all  of  the  cumbrous,  servile  trifles  which  hinder  and  be 
little  the  development  of  any  true  God -given  life? 
What  sublime  pity  must  He,  who  judges  as  men  do  not 
judge,  give  these,  His  helpless  ones,  blindly  and  wearily 
struggling  against  the  devouring  tide  of  wo-rldliness. 

This  Maud  Elbert,  whom  I  wish  it  were  given  me  to 
place  more  clearly  before  your  inward  eye,  had  been  be 
trothed  to  James  Augustus  Grant  these  many  years; 
since  early  childhood  indeed,  when  their  fond  fathers, 


Maud  Elberfs  Love  Match.  221 


having  gained  in  some  speculation  of  unusual  hazard  and 
percentage,  and  feeling  the  cockles  of  their  hearts  warm 
ed  toward  each  other,  as  do  men  who  have,  arm  to  arm, 
mastered  some  great  danger— when  these  fond  old  ship 
ping  merchants,  I  say,  pledged  their  two  smiling  inno 
cents  to  each  other,  and  vowed  to  secure  the  present 
good  understanding  of  the  firm  with  that  sacramental  ce 
ment  known  as  the  marriage  ceremony.     They  grew  up 
in  the  full  knowledge   of  their  predestinated   union ; 
were-  accustomed  to  walk  and  ride  together  as  little  chil 
dren  ;  quarrelled  and  made  up  as  boy  and  girl ;  and  by 
the  time  they  were  full  blown  into  young  society-hood, 
had  grown  so  familiar  that  they  didn't  know  each  other 
at  all,  and  didn't  care  for  each  other  a  straw.     "When 
J.  A.  went  to  Europe  Maud  went  also  on  her  travels ;  not, 
of  course,  in  the  same  steamer,  nor  even  in  the  same 
general  direction ;  though  they  did  meet  in  Paris,  where 
J.  A.  dutifully  divided  himself  between  Maud  and  a 
French  friend  whose  acquaintance  he  had  made  at  the 
Jardin  Mabille.     "When  J.  A.  returned  Maud  was  the 
beauty  of  her  set,  which,  of  course,  pleased  him.     Why 
shouldn't  it  ?     Was  not  she  to  be  his  wife  by  and  by  ? 
And  don't  a  man  like  to  see  his  wife,  or  fiancee,  admired, 
within  bounds?     Pleased  him  the  more,  that  it  was 
evident,  even  to  his  dull  and  careless  vision,  that,  if 
she  cared  no  great  deal  for  him,  she  loved  no  one  bet 
ter.     Why  should  she  ?    In  her  set  J.  A.  was  not  more 
useless  or  worse  than  any  of  the  others ;  and  he  certainly 
danced  more  elegantly  than   some.     And  out  of  her 
set? 


222  Maud  Elberfs  Love  Match. 


Pray,  did  you  ever  know  a  young  girl  with  $100,000 
marry  out  of  her  set  ? 

And  marrying,  you  know,  is  the  chief  business  of  life. 
Prudent  mammas  fondly  hope  to  rescue  the  morals  of 
imprudent  sons  by  an  early  marriage.  Prudent  papas 
speculatively  think  to  make  the  fortunes  of  imprudent 
sons  by  a  wealthy  marriage.  Prudent  sons  regard  the 
transaction  with  a  business  eye,  and  hope  to  gain  out  of 
it  larger  means  and  greater  liberty.  And  the  bride? 
God  help  her !  Except,  as  sometimes  happens,  she  is  able 
to  help  herself. 

The  match  which  had  been  so  conveniently  arranged 
for  these  young  people  seemed  in  every  respect  felicitous, 
except,  perhaps,  in  the  matter  of  love.  But  then  it  is  to 
be  considered  that  love  had  not  been  in  the  minds  of  the 
projectors;  though  in  such  matters  love  is  oftener  the 
cause  than  the  effect.  So  far,  however,  as  appeared  to 
the  world,  or  indeed  to  the  thoughts  of  the  two  most  in 
terested,  the  affair  was  settled.  Maud  Elbert  did  not 
give  her  mind  to  a  future  so  mapped  out  for  her.  Your 
fatalist  is  never  a  reasoning  being ;  and  indolent  people 
scarce  care  to  waste  a  thought  upon  those  affairs  which 
God,  or  fate,  or  fortune,  seem  to  have  placed  out  of  their 
control.  And  J.  A.  ?  J.  A.  drew  his  weekly  allowance 
out  of  the  opening  so  conveniently  provided  for  him  in 
South  Street,  and  having  now  pretty  much  run  through 
his  limited  range  of  life,  took  to  reading,  and  misunder 
standing,  Thackeray,  and  tried  to  do  the  cynical :  a  kind 
of  Diogenes  the  Magnificent,  snarling  at  society  out  of  his 
gilded  tub  on  the  edge  of  Fifth  Avenue,  and  making  sar- 


Maud  Elberfs  Love  Match.  223 


castic  comments  on  the  way  of  life  of  those  who  spend 
more  than  $20,000  a  year. 

It  is  the  fashion  to  rail  at  the  money-getting  spirit  of 
us  Americans;  but  money-getting  is  better  than  noth 
ing-getting.  To  speculate  in  Wall  or  South  Street  is  at 
least  exercise  for  the  mind,  and  though  the  male  intellect 
might  be  applied  to  better  purposes,  happy  he  whose 
necessities  lead  him  to  achieve  with  his  life  some  tangi 
ble  result,  however  mean.  But  look  at  the  unfortunates 
among  us,  who  are  weighed  down  by  the  load  of  inherit 
ed  gold  below  the  necessity  of  exercising  any  intellectual 
power.  Every  young  millionaire  is  not  a  genius,  thank 
Heaven ;  and  a  commonplace  rich  man :  how  infinitely 
less  are  his  chances  than  a  commonplace  poor  man's ! 

Old  Peter  Grant  worked  hard  and  constantly  in  his 
South  Street  counting-room.  That  man  must  know  little 
of  him  who  should  accuse  the  stanch  old  merchant  of 
covetousness.  He  sought  money,  not  for  money's  sake, 
but  for  occupation's  sake.  He  put  his  whole  soul  into 
his  work.  If  only  the  work  were  worth  a  soul !  Only 
fools  depreciate  wealth.  In  our  hearts  says  Emerson, 
"we  honor  the  rich,  because  they  have  externally  the. 
freedom,  power,  and  grace  which  we  feel  to  be  proper  to 
man — proper,  to  us."  But  our  wants  overlay  our  lives 
and  outgrow  any  possible  wealth ;  and  so  the  man  who 
once  sought  wealth  as  a  means  comes  to  strive  for  it  as 
an  end,  and,  0  vain  goose !  lays  his  diurnal  golden  egg, 
and  cackles  in  dismal  contentment  over  the  wretched  per 
formance.  Is  it  a  wonder  that  J.  Augustus  sinks  the  shop, 


224  Maud  Elberfs  Love  Match. 


which,  by  the  way,  he  has  not  raised,  and  takes  not  kind 
ly  to  the  paternal  ways  ?  The  better  instinct  of  youth  re 
fuses  to  give  up  to  this  life,  whose  routine  must  crush  out 
all  true  enjoyment  of  existence.  Show  him  an  object  to 
gain  with  his  money,  and  he  will  coin  his  brain  and  mus 
cle  into  dollars  unreluctant.  But  to  begin  where  his  fa 
ther  will  leave  off,  and  dutifully  go  on  accumulating? 
The  bee  is  a  very  moral  and  prudent  insect,  praised  of 
Benjamin  Franklin,  and  held  in  esteem  by  all  lovers  of 
honey.  B-ut  a  young  man  is  not  a  bee.  Neither,  0 
man  and  father,  is  your  son  a  duplicate  Benjamin  Frank 
lin — bound  in  calf.  Why  try  to  make  him  swallow  the 
scandalous  selfishness  of  Poor  Eichard  ?  Can  you  not 
see  how  infinitely  more  glorious  was  old  Ben  Franklin's 
life  than  his  shrewd,  wretched  maxims? 

In  the  eyes  of  future  generations,  say  of  Lord  Ma- 
caulay's  philosophic  New  Zealander,  that  nation  will  be 
counted  greatest  and  wisest  which  has  made  the  best  use 
of  its  rich  young  men.  At  present  England  is  like  to 
carry  off  this  prize ;  where,  to  an  honest  commonplace 
rich  man  there  is  opened  at  least  the  door  of  Parliament 
House.  I  hold  that  the  man  who  is  neither  a  fool  nor  a 
genius,  and  who  has  a  good  competence,  is  he  who  is 
most  likely  to  serve  the  State  with  honor  and  profit. 
But  for  such  young  fellows  our  customs  provide  nothing, 
and  they  must  go  the  ways  of  their  fathers  in  South 
Street,  or,  do  worse  !  "  Content  to  be  merely  the  thriv 
ing  merchants  of  a  State,  where  they  might  be  its  guides, 
counsellors,  and  rulers."  Our  theory  calls  for  only  men  of 
genius  in  the  councils  of  the  nation.  And  our  practice 


Maud  Elberfs  Love  Match.  225 


so  fills  them  with  the  genius  of  blackguardism,  that  hon 
est  mediocrity  reasonably  fears  to  soil  its  fingers  on  the 
balustrades  of  the  State  Capitol. 

So  James  Augustus  tilted  his  chair  against  the  club 
window,  and  soiled  his  hands  neither  in  the  Capitol  nor 
in  South  Street. 

The  good  fruit  of  utter  indolence  is  that  it  awakens 
thought.  A  bright  flicker  precedes  the  final  extinction 
of  the  lamp ;  and  in  the  throes  which,  to  the  idler,  shad 
ow  impending  mental  dissolution,  the  man  sometimes 
finds  out  things.  Generally  a  right  thing — not  always 
the  right  thing.  To  J.  A.,  yawning  and  desperately 
musing  amid  the  ruins  of  his  Carthage,  it  was  revealed 
that  he  did  not  love  Maud  Elbert.  Had  never  loved 
her.  Should  never  love  her.  That  she  did  not  love 
him.  That  he  was  not  worthy  of  her.  Why  should 
they  marry?  Pondering  which  new  view  our  young 
man  finally  came  to  the  resolution  that,  though  the  thing 
was  hardly  the  thing  in  him,  and  though  probably  Grant 
&  Elbert  would  be  displeased,  yet  he  must  tell  Maud 
this. 

You  see  it  is  possible  that  a  young  man  shall  be  very 
idle  without  being  hopelessly  bad. 

How  to  tell  her  ?  Your  true  epicure,  who  has  tickled 
his  palate  with  the  best  dishes  of  the  most  famous  cooks, 
comes  at  last  gladly  back  to  plain  bread  and  butter  and 
tea ;  and  J.  A.,  having  exhausted  his  imagination  in  de 
vising  schemes  for  conveying  to  Maud  this  new  light  of 
his,  came  at  last  to  the  sensible  determination  that  a  few 
honest  words,  spoken  with  at  least  the  affectation  of  man- 

K2 


226  Maud  Elberfs  Love  Match. 


liness,  would  best  achieve  the  desired  result.  And  thus 
it  was  done : 

"You  do  not  love  me.  I  do  not  love  you.  Why 
should  we  two  consider  ourselves  bound  by  the  fond 
promises  of  our  fathers  ?  I  love  no  one  else,  nor  do 
you."  If  she  had,  perhaps  the  excellent  Augustus  would 
not  have  given  her  up  so  cheerfully ;  but  let  that  pass. 
"Why  live  in  this  strait  jacket?  Let  us  cry  quits,  and 
at  least  feel  honestly  toward  each  other." 

Maud  opened  her  great  blue  eyes  in  silent  surprise, 
and,  as  she  took  the  young  man's  offered  hand,  cast  upon 
him  a  more  kindly  look  than  he  had  ever  received  from 
her  before.  Evidently  she  had  not  thought  it  was  in 
him ;  and  he  was  too  well  pleased  to  have  it  all  over  to 
find  fault  with  the  dubious  compliment.  So  these  two 
ceased  to  be  lovers  but ;  became  from  that  moment  friends ; 
a  friendship  which  helped  them  to  a  better  perception 
of  life;  for  this  light,  which  had  so  illuminated  their 
former  relation,  also  shed  its  faint  gleam  upon  all  other 
parts  of  their  lives,  and  gave  them  a  clearer  insight  into 
the  power  and  use  of  those  mysteries  which  we  call  cir 
cumstances.  They  stood  upon  new  ground ;  and,  insen 
sibly,  their  attitude  to  the  world  was  changed. 

Not  that  the  change  was  very  perceptible,  even  to 
themselves.  J.  A.  still  tilted  his  chair  back  and  smoked 
his  cigar,  and,  for  all  I  know,  this  one  honest  deed  done, 
was  fast  returning  to  his  spew,  when —  Have  you  ever 
observed  how  fatal  it  is  to  a  prosperous  fool  to  do  one 
sensible  act,  to  a  successful  rogue  to  be  in  one  instance 
honest?  This  marks  a  point  in  his  career ;  Fate  pursues 


Maud  Elberfs  Love  Match.  227 


him  remorselessly ;  will  not  let  him  stand  still  on  this 
middle  ground;  says  to  him,  " Backward  or  forward: 
here  is  no  rest  for  you."  Providence  seems  to  acknowl 
edge  no  good  deed  which  stands  alone ;  and,  as  in  the 
boy's  game  of  prisoner's  base,  the  unlucky  venturer  on 
new  ground  finds  himself  chased  on  both  sides,  and  has 
no  peace  till  he  elects  his  future. 

When  the  panic  of  1857  came  on,  no  house  stood 
firmer  than  Grant  &  Elbert.  Their  paper  was  gilt-edged 
in  the  banks ;  their  credit  was  without  a  shadow ;  their 
business  was,  though  widely  extended,  really  prosperous. 
But  two  India  clippers,  uninsured,  that  should  have 
come  safely  home  were  lost  by  the  way ;  others  lay  rot 
ting,  freightless,  in  foreign  ports;  houses  in  whose  sta 
bility  they  were  vitally  interested,  one  after  another  went 
to  the  ground ;  and  one  morning  it  was  announced  that 
Grant  &  Elbert  were  down — hopelessly  down. 

Old  Grant  sat  silent,  like  a  stern  old  Roman,  in  the 
deserted  counting-room,  and  wound  up  affairs,  which, 
alas !  should  never  go  again  ;  wound  up  as  fast  as  things 
could  be  wound  up  in  those  crazy  times  when  "Wall 
Street  was  financially  insane  as  well  as  insolvent,  and 
all  the  world  was  mad  with  fright.  Sacrificed  every,  dol 
lar,  every  cent,  to  give  each  creditor  his  due — needlessly, 
some  said,  for  scarce  any  one  would  do  the  like  for  him ; 
but  not  needlessly,  said  stanch  old  Peter,  when  his  hon 
est  fame  and  fair  mercantile  character  were  at  stake. 
And  every  man  was  paid  one  hundred  cents  in  the  dol 
lar;  and  Grant  &  Elbert  were  beggared.  When  all  the 
clerks  and  retainers  of  the  house  had  received  their  sal- 


228  Maud  Elberfs  Love  Match. 


aries  in  full,  and  a  moderate  gift  to  help  them  through 
the  hard  times;  when  all  claims  were  adjusted,  all  goods 
sacrificed;  when  the  rusty,  honest  old  sign  was  taken 
down,  and  Grant  &  Elbert  was  a  firm  no  longer,  then  old 
Peter,  looking  prouder  than  in  his  best  days — if  these  in 
deed  were  not  his  best  days — began  to  turn  about  for  a 
shelter  from  the  remainder  of  the  great  storm.  His 
house  and  Elbert's  had  been  put  into  the  general  settle 
ment,  and  the  families  were  now  but  tenants  by  courtesy 
in  Fifth  Avenue.  Now  it  was  conveniently  remembered 
that,  in  a  quiet  village  a  few  miles  out  of* town,  Maud 
Elbert  owned,  in  her  own  right,  a  humble  cottage  with 
some  ground  attached — so  humble,  indeed,  that  it  had 
scarce  ever  had  a  moment's  thought  from  her,  except 
when  she  remembered  that  here  her  father  was  born. 

Hither  George  Elbert  and  Peter  Grant  removed ;  here 
to  await  in  quiet,  and  what  peace  they  might,  the  clear 
ing  up  of  the  financial  atmosphere.  Here  Maud  re 
ceived  them,  having  gone  up  some  days  in  advance,  with 
a  faithful  old  servant  and  what  little  resources  had  been 
saved  from  the  great  wreck,  to  prepare  their  new  home 
for  the  old  men.  Here,  she — worthy,  thrice  worthy  the 
high  fate  which  had  now  befallen  her — served  them,  as 
who  could  do  so  well,  with  cheery  smile  and  brightening 
eye,  like  a  very  queen  in  her  palace ;  remembering  all 
their  old  accustomed  ways,  and  hours,  and  whims ;  ca 
tering  frugally  to  all  their  simple  old  tastes ;  putting  her 
fair  hands  to  all  work  from  bread-making  to  bed-making; 
and  accomplishing  all  with  the  air  of  one  born  to  do  just 
this.  As  was  she  not?  Here  dawned  her  happiest 


Maud  Elberfs  Love  Match.  229 


hours ;  and  here,  too,  the  old  merchants  basked  in  her 
sunshine  till  they  forgot  their  toils  and  troubles,  their 
weary  struggles  and  sore  disappointments,  and  were  fain 
to  acknowledge,  though  faintly,  and  by  no  means  too  as 
suredly,  that  in  all  their  magnificence  they  had  known 
no  such  happiness  and  comfort  as  here. 

And  J.  A.  ?  In  the  general  upsetting  and  remodelling 
of  things,  poor,  useless,  cigar-smoking  J.  A.  had  been  to 
tally  forgotten.  When  the  sea  is  calm,  and  the  wind 
fair,  the  idlers  of  a  ship  make  more  noise  and  show  than 
the  oldest  salt  on  board,  and  old  Sheet-anchor  Jack,  who 
in  such  times  seems  rather  a  fifth  wheel  to  this  fast-roll 
ing  coach,  and  a  useless  piece  of  lumber,  must  be  con 
tent  to  chew  his  cud  of  sweet  and  bitter  fancies  in  silent 
waiting,  under  lee  of  the  long-boat.  But  when  the  gale, 
which  no  one  thought  could  by  any  possibility  overtake 
so  fast  and  stanch  a  clipper,  does  break  its  fury  over  her, 
then  Sheet-anchor  Jack  comes  out  of  his  hole,  and  quiet 
ly  makes  all  snug,  while  your  boasting  braggart  idler  is 
not  even  of  sufficient  value  to  pull  and  haul.  So  J.  A., 
who  had  hitherto  enacted  the  part  of  chief  butterfly  so 
much  to  his  own  admiration,  now  slunk  wretchedly  into 
his  hole,  and  was  content  to  be  forgotten.  Content  ? 

Of  course  he  was  included  in  the  general  ruin ;  was 
shorn  of  his  gay  colors,  divested  of  his  trotting  pony,  his 
tailor,  his  fine  society,  his  club.  Last,  unkindest  cut  of 
all — to  give  up  his  club!  To  hear  him  groan,  you 
would  have  thought  him  a  very  Hercules,  disarmed  with 
not  half  his  labors  accomplished.  The  dear  club !  which 
got  along  quite  as  well  without  him  as  with  him. 


230  Maud  Elberfs  Love  Match. 


Though,  to  be  sure,  when  you  consider  what  a  potent 
weapon  it  had  been  in  his  hands  against  his  arch-fiend 
and  enemy — ennui,  it  is  not  so  surprising  that  he  cher 
ished  its  memory. 

He  had  not  lived  at  home  for  some  time  before  the 
final  catastrophe.  Our  young  men,  knowing  the  discom 
fort  their  inanities  and  idlings  must  cause  their  simple 
parents,  take  care  to  leave  home  as  soon  as  they  are  half 
fledged,  and  in  the  enjoyment  of  a  preposterous  allow 
ance;  or  an  opening  in  South  Street.  When  J.  A.'s  sal 
ary  ceased  to  be  paid,  he  found  it  prudent  to  come  home 
to  dinner,  where  he  sat  with  solemn  and  helpless  visage, 
bolting  his  hasty  food,  and  retiring  to  his  den  up  stairs 
immediately  after.  I  don't  know  whether  he  or  his  fa 
ther  most  keenly  appreciated  his  abject  helplessness ;  but 
I  think  J.  A.,  who  was,  after  all,  merely  useless,  and  not 
altogether  graceless,  was  touched  by  the  old  man's  silent 
grieved  glance,  and  reticence  of  just  scorn  ;  remembering 
that  now,  when  he  might  gladly  be  a  support  to  the 
"governor,"  he  was  only  a  clog.  As  for  old  Peter,  I 
dare  say  that  now,  when  he  could  no  longer  indulge  his 
boy,  he  saw  that  he  should  sooner  have  trained  him. 

It  was  Maud  who  first  mentioned  the  illustrious  name 
of  James  Augustus  in  their  new  home  in  the  country. 
Old  Peter  looked  up  sternly  at  this  mention,  and  bade 
her  give  herself  no  thought  about  so  useless  a  lout ;  and 
for  a  time,  apparently,  she  obeyed.  Meanwhile  J.  A., 
feeling  that  he  must  somehow  look  out  for  himself,  em 
barked  in  this  new  enterprise  with,  it  must  be  said,  some 
little  misgivings  as  to  the  result.  Things,  financially 


Maud  Elberfs  Love  Match.  231 


speaking,  were  yet  in  such  a  state  of  general  upsetness 
that  old  friends  of  Grant  &  Elbert,  who  might  otherwise 
have  given  the  young  man  a  trial,  were  obliged  to  say, 
"  Wait  till  times  clear  up."  Pending  which  clearing  up, 
Master  J.  A.,  I  suspect,  found  some  difficulties  attending 
the  management  of  the  commissariat  department,  and 
was  forced  to  make  occasional  little  calls  upon  an  accom 
modating  uncle,  trading  at  the  sign  of  three  gilt  balls, 
whose  business,  happily,  had  not  suffered  in  the  general 
depression,  and  who  was  able,  therefore,  to  make  the 
youth  small  cash  advances  upon  certain  superfluous  ar 
ticles  of  jewelry,  and  a  chronometer  which  was  no  longer 
needed  to  time  fast  horses  on  the  Bloomingdale  Eoad. 

If  idleness,  as  we  have  seen,  is  a  partial  illuminator  of 
the  dull  mind,  I  am  sure  the  breadless  condition  is  the 
source  of  much  greater  light.  There  is  such  intimate 
connection  between  the  stomach  and  the  brain,  that,  as  a 
full  dinner  temporarily  disables  your  most  acute  thinker, 
so  given  a  certain  vacuum  in  the  region  of  the  digestive 
organs,  and  you  have  almost  invariably  a  singularly  lu 
cid  brain.  So  in  J.  A.'s  needy  condition  he  was  as  one 
blind  from  whose  eyes  the  scales  had  suddenly  fallen. 
Not  one  thing,  but  many,  did  he  find  out ;  and  though 
at  first  "  he  saw  men  as  trees  walking,"  presently  these 
new  lights  took  order  in  his  brain,  and  he  discerned  his 
course  more  clearly  before  him.  But  the  question  of 
bread  was  the  most  potent  and  imminent. 

He  had  caused  it  to  be  generally  known  that  a  book 
keeper's  place,  even  at  a  very  moderate  salary,  would  be 
temporarily  acceptable  to  him ;  but  he  discovered  that 


232  Maud  Elberfs  Love  Match. 


many  other  and  abler  applicants  were  before  him  here  ; 
that  even  a  poor  entry-clerk's  situation  might  be  a  dozen 
times  filled  in  as  many  minutes ;  and  finally,  pressed  by 
circumstances,  and  slowly  gathering  courage  to  look  For 
tune  in  the  face,  which  is  the  only  way  successfully  to 
advance  upon  that  fickle  jade,  he  was  content  to  accept 
of  a  porter's  situation  in  the  store  of  an  honest  but  not 
overcourteous  Quaker,  who  advised  him  to  "  sink  Fifth 
Avenue,  and  turn  to  his  work  like  a  man."  Five  dol 
lars  per  week  made  him  happy  for  the  time — a  happi 
ness  which  was  dimmed  by  the  jeers  of  his  fellow-por 
ters  at  his  lack  of  muscle  and  his  awkwardness.  In  his 
prosperity  he  had  foolishly  looked  down  upon  these 
rough,  strong  men;  now,  how  he  envied  them  their 
brawn  and  their  knack. 

It  was  no  small  step  gained  for  J.  A.  when  he  found 
pride  in  his  work,  in  his  increasing  skill  and  muscle,  and 
ceased  to  take  thought  for  his  soft  hands.  One  day  it  was 
revealed  to  him  that  a  man  might  be  porter  and  gentle 
man  too — if  only  he  have  his  heart  in  the  right  place. 
"  Whatsoever  thy  hand  findeth  to  do,  do  it  with  thy 
might."  It  was  not  Poor  Kichard  who  said  that.  And 
now  to  J.  A.  came  a  singular  and  novel  doubt  of  his 
own  capacities  and  true  value,  a  promising  sign,  truly ; 
for  this  doubt  was  to  him  the  beginning  of  all  wisdom. 
'He  who  had  so  valiantly  applied  for  a  book-keeper's 
place  found  it  expedient  to  study  somewhat  of  that  in 
tricate  mercantile  science.  So  to  this  he  devoted  his 
evenings,  now  relieved  of  that  stress  of  invitations  which 
formerly  gave  him  his  knowledge  of  books  chiefly  from 


Maiid  Elberfs  Love  Match.  233 


their  outsides  and  titles.  By  the  flickering  gas-light  he 
patiently  explored  the  abstruse  and  cabalistic  Dr.  and 
Or.,  Ledger,  Day-book,  Journal,  Cash-book;  and  having 
mastered  this  one  thing,  found  he  had  conquered  him 
self.  It  is  not  a  bad  thing  to  have  been  richly  born  and 
daintily  nurtured.  Let  no  man  despise  it.  No  soul  that 
has  ever  come  from  heaven  but  longs  to  get  back,  and  in 
this  longing  conceives  and  treasures  the  very  idea  of  im 
mortality  and  God.  To  poor  J.  A.,  dimly  seeing  his  to- 
be,  the  past  was  now  a  landmark  enabling  him  more 
definitely  to  lay  out  that  future  which  should  be  the 
goal  of  his  regenerate  ambition  and  his  honest  toils. 

T\Tith  what  secret  joy  did  he  indite  a  letter  to  old  Pe 
ter,  telling  him  modestly  his  present  deeds,  and  hinting 
to  him  what  he  dared  of  his  hopes !  With  what  pride 
the  old  man  read  the  letter  aloud ;  his  eyes  filling,  and 
his  old  voice  trembling  as  he  felt  the  new  spirit  of 
his  boy !  Maud's  dear  eyes  flashed  out  a  bright  com 
prehension  of  the  whole  change;  and  old  Elbert  pro 
posed  at  once  to  have  J.  A.  up  to  the  house.  To  which 
Peter  wisely  demurred,  preferring  that  the  boy's  new  ca 
reer  should  not  be  interrupted  by  untimely  temptation 
of  praise. 

There  are  so  few  honest  and  punctual  men  in  the 
world  that  one  who  has  these  qualities  needs  to  be  very 
stupid  indeed  not  to  gain  his  step  on  the  ladder,  if  only 
he  has  also  the  gift  of  patience.  So  it  happened  that 
J.  A.'s  employer  presently  discovered  him  to  be  of  too 
great  value  for  a  mere  porter,  one  needing  chiefly  muscle 
and  a  moderate  degree  of  temperance,  and  ere  the  summer 


234  Maud  Elberfs  Love  Match. 


was  over  which  followed  the  great  panic,  Peter's  boy  was 
assistant  book-keeper.  And  now,  at  last,  he  could  look 
his  father  in  the  face.  So  one  Saturday  afternoon,  gain 
ing  an  early  leave  for  the  purpose,  he  sailed  up  to  the 
village  where  Maud's  house  gave  the  old  man  shelter. 
A  sad  breaking  down,  indeed,  his  old  associates  would 
have  thought  could  they  have  seen  him  for  one  hesitat 
ing  moment  at  the  gate.  Poor  fellow !  no  longer  minc 
ing  in  his  gait ;  no  longer  nattily  gloved  in  daintiest  kid ; 
no  longer  adorned  in  coat  and  hat  of  latest  style  and 
finest  make ;  but  truly  a  -man — standing  firmly  upon  his 
feet,  as  one  who  possesses  his  soul  in  wholesome  content ; 
and  looking  you  clearly  in  the  eye,  with  a  consciousness 
of  honorable  toil-won  bread ;  not  haughty  or  supercil 
ious;  but  humbly  proud,  as  one  who  has  learned  the 
great  lesson  of  obedience,  and  knows  that  to  obey  is 
truly  to  command. 

So  they  met — the  old  man  and  his  son.  I  am  not  so 
base  as  to  attempt  for  you  a  sketch  of  this  sacred  scene ; 
if  you  can  not  feel  it  in  your  heart,  I  am  not  fit  to  tell  it. 
Peter  felt  the  blood  of  twenty  years  ago  coursing  through 
his  veins,  and  George  Elbert  almost  swore  for  extreme 
joy  to  see  the  boy  come  home.  And  Maud? 

Sweet  Maud !  her  life  had  blossomed  here,  indeed,  and 
borne  such  fruit  of  joy  to  these  old  men,  of  peace  and 
uttermost  content,  that  their  every  breath  asked  blessings 
upon  her  dear  head — their  every  thought  was  a  prayer 
for  her  happiness.  A  very  queen,  indeed,  as  is  every 
true  woman  in  the  home  where  she  reigns  supreme  in 
love  and  good  works ;  counting  no  labor  drudgery  which 


Maud  Elberfs  Love  Match.  235 


gives  her  loved  ones  comfort.  "What  is  drudgery  indeed  ? 
Only  that  work  which  masters  the  worker.  To  the  true 
heart  no  toil  which  is  necessary  to  give  peace  and  good 
cheer  to  any  loved  soul  is  mean  or  commonplace.  Such 
a  one  no  labor  can  master.  To  such  no  toil  is  drudgery. 

Why  should  I  not  tell  it  ?  There  was  still  one  thing 
to  be  found  out ;  and  this  revelation  was  to  be  made  to 
both  Maud  and  J.  A.  They  are  to  be  married  in  Sep 
tember.  J.  A.  has  but  an  assistant  book-keeper's  modest 
salary :  I  am  sorry  I  stand  in  his  way  to  speedy  promo 
tion.  But  his  wife  will  bring  him  good  health,  and  a 
brave  kind  heart  as  ever  beat.  When  J.  A.,  the  other 
day,  under  pretense  of  finding  something  in  my  ledger, 
asked  me  to  stand  up  with  him,  he  said  he  "  thought 
they  should  be  happy." 

I  shouldn't  wonder ;  for  my  wife  says  theirs  is  really 
a  Love  Match. 


« 


They  do  honor  to  American  Literature,  and  would  do 
honor  to  the  Literature  of  any  Country  in  the  World." 


THE   RISE   OF 
THE    DUTCH    REPUBLIC. 


BY  JOHN  LOTHKOP  MOTLEY. 

New  Edition.    With  a  Portrait  of  WILLIAM  OF  ORANGE.    3 
8vo,  Muslin,  $10  50. 

We  regard  this  work  as  the  best  contribution  to  modern  history  that  has  yet 
been  made  by  an  American.—  Methodist  quarterly  Review. 

The  "History  of  the  Dutch  Republic"  is  a  great  gift  to  us;  but  the  heart  and 
earnestness  that  beat  through  all  its  pages  are  greater,  for  they  give  us  most 
timely  inspiration  to  vindicate  the  true  ideas  of  our  country,  and  to  compose  an 
able  history  of  our  own.—  Christian  Examiner  (Boston). 

This  work  bears  on  its  face  the  evidences  of  scholarship  and  research.  The 
arrangement  is  clear  and  effective  ;  the  style  energetic,  lively,  and  often  brilliant 
•  *  *  Mr.  Motley's  instructive  volumes  will,  we  trust,  have  a  circulation  commen 
surate  with  their  interest  and  value.—  Protestant  Episcopal  Quarterly  Review. 

To  the  illustration  of  this  most  interesting  period  Mr.  Motley  has  brought  the 
matured  powers  of  a  vigorous  and  brilliant  mind,  and  the  abundant  fruits  of  pa 
tient  and  judicious  study  and  deep  reflection.  The  result  is,  one  of  the  most 
important  contributions  to  historical  literature  that  have  been  made  in  this  coun 
try.  —  North  American  Review. 

We  would  conclude  this  notice  by  earnestly  recommending  onr  readers  to  pro 
cure  for  themselves  this  truly  great  and  admirable  work,  by  the  production  of 
which  the  auther  has  conferred  no  less  honor  upon  his  country  than  he  has  won 
praise  and  fame  for  himself,  and  than  which,  we  can  assure  them,  they  can  find 
nothing  more  attractive  or  interesting  within  the  compass  of  modern  literature. 
—  Evangelical  Review. 

It  is  not  often  that  we  have  the  pleasure  of  commending  to  the  attention  of  the 
lover  of  books  a  work  of  such  extraordinary  aud  unexceptionable  excellence  as 
this  one.  —  Universalist  Quarterly  Review. 

There  are  an  elevation  and  a  classic  polish  in  these  volumes,  and  a  felicity  of 
grouping  and  of  portraiture,  which  invest  the  subject  with  the  attractions  of  a 
living  and  stirring  episode  in  the  grand  historic  drama.—  Southern  Methodist 
Quarterly  Review. 

The  author  writes  with  a  genial  glow  and  love  of  his  subject  —  Presbyterian 
Quarterly  Review. 

Mr.  Motley  is  a  sturdy  Republican  and  a  hearty  Protestant  His  style  is  live 
ly  and  picturesque,  and  his  work  is  an  honor  and  an  important  accession  to  ouf 
national  literature.  —  Church  Review. 

Mr.  Motley's  work  is  an  important  one,  the  result  of  profound  research,  sincere 
convictions,  sound  principles,  and  manly  sentiments;  and  even  those  who  are 
most  familiar  with  the  history  of  the  period  will  find  in  it  a  fresh  and  vivid  ad 
dition  to  their  previous  knowledge.  It  does  honor  to  American  literature,  and 
would  do  honor  to  the  literature  of  any  country  in  the  world.—  Edinburgh  Re 
view. 

A  serious  chasm  in  English  historical  literature  has  been  (by  this  book)  very 
remarkably  filled.  *  *  *  A  history  as  complete  as  industry  and  genius  can  make 
it  now  lies  before  us,  of  the  first  twenty  years  of  the  revolt  of  the  United  Prov 
inces.  *  *  *  All  the  essentials  of  a  great  writer  Mr.  Motley  eminently  possesr.es. 
His  mind  is  broad,  his  industry  unwearied.  In  power  of  dramatic  description 
no  modern  historian,  except,  perhaps,  Mr.  Carlyle,  surpasses  him,  and  in  auuly 
si*  of  character  he  is  elaborate  and  distinct  —  Westminster  Review. 


2          MOTLEY'S    RISE    OF    THE    DUTCH    REPUBLIC1. 

It  is  a  work  of  real  historical  value,  the  result  of  accurate  criticism,  written 
in  a  liberal  spirit,  and  from  first  to  last  deeply  interesting. — Athenaeum. 

The  style  is  excellent,  clear,  vivid,  eloquent;  and  the  industry  with  which 
original  sources  have  been  investigated,  and  through  which  new  light  has  been 
shed  over  perplexed  incidents  and  characters,  entitles  Mr.  Motley  to  a  high  rank 
in  the  literature  of  an  age  peculiarly  rich  in  history.— North  British  Review. 

It  abounds  in  new  information,  and,  as  a  first  work,  commands  a  very  cordial 
recognition,  not  merely  of  the  promise  it  gives,  but  of  the  extent  and  importance 
of  the  labor  actually  performed  on  it. — London  Examiner. 

Mr.  Motley's  "  History'1  is  a  work  of  which  any  country  might  be  proud. — 
Press  (London). 

Mr.  Motley's  History  will  be  a  standard  book  of  reference  in  historical  litera 
ture. — London  Literary  Gazette. 

Mr.  Motley  has  searched  the  whole  range  of  historical  documents  necessary  to 
the  composition  of  his  work. — London  Leader. 

This  is  really  a  great  work.  It  belongs  to  the  class  of  books  in  which  we 
range  our  Grotes,  Milmans,  Merivales,  and  Macaulays,  as  the  glories  of  English 
literature  in  the  department  of  history.  *  *  *  Mr.  Motley's  gifts  as  a  historical 
writer  are  among  the  highest  and  rarest. — Nonconformist  (London). 

Mr.  Motley's  volumes  will  well  repay  perusal.  *  *  *  For  his  learning,  his  liberal 
tone,  and  his  generous  enthusiasm,  we  heartily  commend  him,  and  bid  him  good 
speed  for  the  remainer  of  his  interesting  and  heroic  narrative. — Saturday  Review. 

The  story  is  a  noble  one,  and  is  worthily  treated.  *  *  *  Mr.  Motley  has  had  the 
patience  to  unravel,  with  unfailing  perseverance,  the  thousand  intricate  plots  of 
the  adversaries  of  the  Prince  of  Orange ;  but  the  details  and  the  literal  extracts 
which  he  has  derived  from  original  documents,  and  transferred  to  his  pages, 
give  a  truthful  color  and  a  picturesque  effect,  which  are  especially  charming. — 
London  Daily  News. 

M.  Lothrop  Motley  dans  son  magnifique  tableau  de  la  formation  de  notre  R6- 
pubiique. — G.  GROEN  VAN  PBINSTERKB. 

Our  accomplished  countryman,  Mr.  J.  Lothrop  Motley,  who,  during  the  last 
five  years,  for  the  better  prosecution  of  his  labors,  has  established  his  residence 
in  the  neighborhood  of  the  scenes  of  his  narrative.  No  one  acquainted  with  the 
fine  powers  of  mind  possessed  by  this  scholar,  and  the  earnestness  with  which  he 
has  devoted  himself  to  the  task,  can  doubt  that  he  will  do  full  justice  to  his  im 
portant  but  difficult  subject— W.  II.  PBESCOTT. 

The  production  of  such  a  work  as  this  astonishes,  while  it  gratifies  the  pride 
of  the  American  reader. — N.  Y.  Observer. 

The  "Rise  of  the  Dutch  Republic"  at  once,  and  by  acclamation,  takes  its 
place  by  the  "  Decline  and  Fall  of  the  Roman  Empire,"  as  a  work  which,  wheth 
er  for  research,  substance,  or  style,  will  never  be  superseded. — N.  Y.  Albion. 

A  work  upon  which  all  who  read  the  English  language  may  congratulate 
themselves. — New  Yorker  Handels  Zeitung. 

Mr.  Motley's  place  is  now  (alluding  to  this  book)  with  Hallam  and  Lord  Ma- 
hon,  Alison  and  Macaulay  in  the  Old  Countiy,  and  with  Washington  Irving, 
Pre^cott,  and  Bancroft  in  this.—  N.  Y.  Times. 

THE  authority,  in  the  English  tongue,  for  the  history  of  the  period  and  people 
to  which  it  refers.—  N.  Y.  Courier  and  Enquirer. 

This  work  at  once  places  the  author  on  the  list  of  American  historians  which 
has  been  so  signally  illustrated  by  the  names  of  Irving,  Prescott,  Bancroft,  and 
Hildreth.— Boston  Times. 

The  work  is  a  noble  one,  and  a  most  desirable  acquisition  to  our  historical  lit 
erature. — Mobile  Advertiser. 

Such  a  work  is  an  honor  to  its  author,  to  his  country,  and  to  the  age  in.  which 
it  was  written. — Ohio  Farmer. 

Published  ly  HARPER  &  BROTHERS, 

Franklin  Square,  New  York. 


HARPER  &  BROTHERS  will  send  the  above  Work  by  Mail  (postage  paid  (for  any 
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Mr.  Motley,  the  Amirican  historian  of  the  United  Netherlands— we  owe  him 
English  homage. — LONDON  TIMES.  t 

"  As  interesting  as  a  romance,  and  as  reliable  as  a  proposition  of  Euclid." 


History  of 
The  United  Netherlands. 

FROM    THE    DEATH    OF    WILLIAM    TUB    SILENT    TO    THE    TWELVE    TEAKS1    TRUCE. 

AVITII  A  FULL  VIEW  OF  TI1E  ENGLISII-DUTCU  STRUGGLE  AGAINST 

SPAIN,  AND  OF  THE   ORIGIN  AND  DESTRUCTION 

OF     THE     SPANISH     ARMADA. 

BY  JOHN  LOTHROP  MOTLEY,  LL.D.,  D.C.L., 

Corresponding  Member  of  the  Institute  of  France,  Author  of  "The  Rise  of  the 
Dutch  Republic." 

"With  Portraits  and  Map. 

4  vols.  8vo,  Muslin,  $14  00. 

Critical  Notices. 

His  living  and  truthful  picture  of  events.-  Quarterly  Reviciv  (London),  Jan., 
1861. 

Fertile  as  the  present  agj  has  been  in  historical  works  of  the  highest  merit, 
none  of  them  can  be  ranked  above  these  volumes  in  the  grand  qualities  of  interest, 
accuracy,  and  truth. — Edinburgh  Quarterly  Revieic,  Jan.,  1861. 

This  noble  work — Westminster  Review  (London). 

One  of  the  most  fascinating  as  well  as  important  histories  of  the  century Cor. 

N.  Y.  Evening  Post. 

The  careful  study  of  these  volumes  will  infallibly  afford  a  feast  both  rich  and 
rare. Baltimore  Republican. 

Already  takes  a  rank  among  standard  works  of  history. — London  Critic. 

Mr.  Motley's  prose  epic — London  Spectator. 

Its  pages  are  pregnant  with  instruction — London  Literari/  Gazette. 

We  may  profit  by  almost  every  page  of  his  narrative.  All  the  topics  which  agi 
tate  us  now  are  more  or  less  vividly  presented  in  the  History  of  the  United  Nether 
lands New  York  Times. 

Bears  on  eveiy  page  marks  of  the  same  vigorous  mind  that  produced  "The  Rise 
of  the  Dutch  Republic ;"  but  the  new  work  is  riper,  mellower,  and  though  equally 
racy  of  the  soil,  softer  flavored.  The  inspiring  idea  which  breathes  through  Mr. 
Motley's  histories  and  colors  the  whole  texture  of  his  narrative,  is  the  grandeur  of 
that  memorable  struggle  in  the  16th  century  by  which  the  human  mind  broke  the 
thraldom  of  religious  intolerance  and  achieved  its  independence The  World,  N.  Y. 

The  name  of  Motley  now  stands  in  the  very  front  rank  of  living  historians.  His 
Dutch  Republic  took  the  world  by  surprise  ;  but  the  favorable  verdict  then  given 
Is  now  only  the  more  deliberately  confirmed  on  the  publication  of  the  continued 
story  under  the  title  of  the  His'orji  of  the  United  Netherlands.  All  the  nerve, 
and  power,  and  substance  of  juicy  life  are  there,  lending  a  charm  to  every  page. — 
Church  Journal,  X.  Y. 

Motley,  indeed,  has  produced  a  prose  epic,  and  his  fighting  scenes  are  as  real, 
spirited,  and  life-like  as  the  combats  in  the  Iliad The  Press  (Phila.). 

His  history  is  as  interesting  as  a  romance,  and  as  reliable  as  a  proposition  of  Eu 
clid.  Clio  never  had  a  more  faithful  disciple.  We  advise  every  reader  whose 
means  will  permit  to  become  the  owner  of  these  fascinating  volumes,  assuring  him 
that  he  will  never  regret  the  investment Christian  Intelligencer,  N.  Y. 

Published  by  HARPER  &  BROTHERS, 

Franklin  Square,  New  York. 

tW  HARPER  &  BROTHERS  will  send  the  above  Work  by  Mail,  postage  pre-paif 
for  any  distance  in  the  United  States  under  3000  miles),  on  receipt  of  the  Mon.y. 


BY  GEORGE  ELIOT. 


ADAM  BEDE.     12mo,  Cloth,  $1  50. 

FELIX  HOLT,  THE  RADICAL.     8vo,  Paper,  75  cents. 
A  Library  Edition,  12mo,  Cloth,  $1  75. 

THE  MILL  ON  THE  FLOSS.      12mo,  Cloth,  $1  50 ;  8vo,  Paper, 
75  cents. 

ROMOLA.     With  Illustrations.     8vo,  Cloth,  $2  00 ;  Paper,  $1  50. 

SCENES  OF  CLERICAL  LIFE.     8vo,  Paper,  75  cents. 

SILAS  MARNER,  THE  WEAVER  OF  RAVELOE.    12mo,  Cloth, 

$1  50. 


by  argument.  On  those  readers  who  are  able  to  appreciate  a  lofty  independence 
of  thought,  a  rare  nobility  of  feeling,  and  an  exqxnsite  sympathy  with  the  joys 
and  sorrows  of  human  nature,  "George  Eliot's"  writings  can  not  fail  to  exert  an 


It  was  once  said  of  a  very  charming  and  high-minded  woman  that  to  know  her 
was  in  itself  a  liberal  education  ;  and  we  are  inclined  to  set  an  almost  equally 
high  value  on  an  acquaintance  with  the  writings  of  "George  Eliot."  For  those 
who  read  them  aright  they  possess  the  faculty  of  educating  in  its  highest  sense, 
of  invigorating  the  intellect,  giving  a  healthy  tone  to  the  taste,  appealing  to  the 
nobler  feelings  of  the  heart,  training  its  impulses  aright,  and  awakening  or  de 
veloping  in  every  mind  the  consciousness  of  a  craving  for  something  higher  than 
the  pleasures  and  rewards  of  that  life  which  only  the  senses  realize,  the  belief  in 
a  destiny  of  a  nobler  nature  than  can  be  grasped  by  experience  or  demonstrated 

are  able  to  appreciate  a  lofty  independence 
and  an  exqxnsite  sympathy  with  the  joys 
e  Eliot's"  writings  can  not  fail  to  exert  an 

invigorating  and  purifying  influence,  the  good  effects  of  which  leaves  behind  it 
a  lasting  impression.—  London  Review. 

"George  Eliot,"  or  whoever  he  or  she  may  be,  has  a  wonderful  power  in  giv 
ing  an  air  of  intense  reality  to  whatever  scene  is  presented,  whatever  character 
is  portrayed.—  Worcester  Palladium. 

She  resembles  Shakspeare  in  her  power  of  delineation.  It  is  from  this  char 
acteristic  action  on  the  part  of  each  of  the  members  of  the  dramatis  personce  that 
we  feel  not  only  an  interest,  even  and  consistent  throughout,  but  also  an  admira 
tion  for  "  George  Eliot"  above  all  other  writers.—  Philadelphia  Evening  Telegraph. 

Few  women  —  no  living  woman  indeed  —  have  so  much  strength  as  "George 
Eliot,"  and,  more  than  that,  she  never  allows  it  to  degenerate  into  coarseness. 
With  all  her  so-called  "masculine"  vigor,  she  has  a  feminine  tenderness,  which 
is  nowhere  shown  more  plainly  than  in  her  descriptions  of  children.  —  Boston 
Transcript. 

She  looks  out  upon  the  world  with  the  most  entire  enjoyment  of  all  the  good 
that  there  is  in  it  to  enjoy,  and  with  an  enlarged  compass'ion  for  all  the  ill  that 
there  is  in  it  to  pity.  But  she  never  either  whimpers  over  the  sorrowful  lot  of 
man,  or  snarls  and  chuckles  over  his  follies  and  littlenesses  and  impotence.  — 
Saturday  Review. 

Her  acquaintance  with  different  phases  of  outward  life,  and  the  power  of  an 


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